#and more times than not he starts looking at them anew when they’ve done something that speaks to his soul lol

[akkivee]

i think ichiro’s sentimental enough to see his life flash before his eyes as he’s falling to his doom (falling off the rodeo ride lmao) and think kuukou reaching out to save him was a lot like kuukou reaching out to him in the first place lol (and lowkey saving him then)

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Picture Imperfect pt 2

Prompts: hey this is a stupid ask but could u maybe make a fic about roman and virgil bonding and growing closer post pof and fwsa and all? could be platonic, pining and then romantic, whatever ud like. ik its not the best prompt but ive got them on the brain, ive re-listened to the reputation album and ur writing is just so good and if not, take care of urself! - anon

I absolutely love your Sanders Sides stories, I can always 'hear' the character's voices - if you get what I mean. If you ever feel motivated or are looking for suggestions, I'd love to see something more from "Picture Imperfect" - I know Roman implies that Imagination versions of the other Sides have escaped before, and I'd really love to see him/the other Sides dealing with something like that! Either way, thank you for all your hard work! <3 - anon

hey could u write a fic about like, ro and vee out on an outing (maybe a first or second date if it’s romantic) and it starts raining so ro expects virgil to get scared and go back inside, but he just starts laughing and dancing and having fun or whatever? and then suddenly they’re both having a blast in the rain (bonus points for the cheesiest fucking rain kiss ever-). no pressure btw, and i love ur work <3 especially how u portray prinxiety! - anon

Uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous babe I don’t know how to put this req here but it’s here I promise

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none

Pairings: prinxiety

Word Count: 3521

  Virgil approaches him after everything is over and just pokes his arm. 

“Uh, hey, Princey?”

“Yes?”

“Can you—can you tell me how many times you’ve done that?”

Roman frowns. “Done what?”

“Well, the whole…’other versions of us,’ thing.”

Shame curdles anew in his chest and he takes a deep breath, swallowing it as best he can. “W-well, I can’t specify exactly how many times I ran that specific scenario, but…er, it’s a tad more complicated than that, actually.”

“I got time.”

“U-um, can we—can we do this somewhere more private?”

“You wanna go to your room?”

“Yeah—yes, actually, that would be a good idea. There’s something in there that will help.”

Virgil frowns but doesn’t press until they’ve moved up and out of the living room. Roman glances at the door and lets out a sigh when he sees it’s closed. Good. Little chance of anyone interrupting them from either side now. 

“Roman?”

He shakes himself. “Right. Sorry. So, um…can I ask why you’re asking, first of all? I-it’s not that I particularly mind answering, per se, it’s just that I…um…”

“You’ll be able to tailor your answer to my question if you understand the specifics of it?” He shrugs when Roman looks at him, surprised. “What? You and L really aren’t that different from each other, you know.”

“I know…”

Logan had said as much, taking him aside much like this and having the softest conversation about the importance of understanding why they’re each doing their own role when it comes to Roman’s ideas and the videos and everything, including saying something about how if he’s managed to stop Roman from wanting to create, he’s failed as a critiquer because he’s extinguished Roman’s creative drive. 

Roman may or may not have cried into his shoulder after that. 

“But really—running things over and over in your head just to show how much they could suck? Kinda my thing, Princey.”

“That’s what—oh, Virgil, I’m so sorry.”

“Eh.” He waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it. That’s my gig, I know how to do it in a way that’s healthy—okay maybe not entirely healthy,” he concedes when Roman gives him a look, “but it’s my thing. Maybe I’m wondering why you thought it had to be yours too.”

“I didn’t mean to steal your thunder, Virgil, I really didn’t—“

“Roman,” Virgil says, reaching out and taking his shoulders to make him look, “I’m not mad at you. I’m not gonna get mad at you. I’m worried, okay?”

Roman takes a deep breath. “Right. Sorry.”

“’S okay. Just take your time.”

In and out. We can do this.

“The Imagination is…temperamental,” he begins, “especially when it comes to all of us. Mostly because we’re a more…concrete part of Thomas’s Imagination seeing as we…sort of become real but not exactly?”

“Okay, I’m with you so far.”

“But because the Imagination likes to go in the direction of what could be, it…sometimes spits out other versions of us.”

Virgil blinks. “What, like clones?”

“Sort of? It’s more—it’s more like it makes alternate versions of us that lean slightly more into different—oh, goodness—character interpretations.” 

Virgil narrows his eyes. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, there, Princey.”

Roman scrubs a hand over his face. “One time there was a Patton who got out of the Imagination that was obsessed with basking specifically chocolate chip cookies.”

“How is that different from our Patton?”

“This one managed to use literally all of the flour and sugar we had before I was able to stop him.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s—that’s different. So they’re all just, like, slightly off?”

“It’s more like if someone took the sliders for their personalities from their video game characters and messed around with them?” Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I’m not doing a very good job of explaining this.”

“No, no, I got it. That’s a good analogy.” Virgil glances at the door to the Imagination. “So—wait, is that where they come from?”

“They can come from any of the doors, they just mostly come through this one since it’s my side and not Remus’s and…um…”

Virgil raises an eye when Roman’s cheeks start to flush. 

“God, this is embarrassing.”

“I’m not here to make fun of you,” he reminds, “I’m just worried.”

“You have to promise you won’t tease me.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Wait, really, just like that?”

“I’m only an asshole to you when it’s funny, Roman.”

“Your definition of ‘funny’ needs some work.”

“You need to stop dodging the question.”

“Fine, fine, okay, it’s just…” Roman takes a deep breath. This is mortifying. “…sometimes I would summon them, okay?”

“You’d summon other versions of us? What for?”

“To…to…” He twists his hands together. “To…comfort me.”

Silence. Yep, this was a mistake. This was the worst decision he could have made here and he wishes this were a not-real version of Virgil so he could just yell cut and have this experience not be actually happening. 

“…brace yourself, Princey, you’re getting a hug.”

“Wha—ah!”

Roman barely has time to finish asking the question before Virgil’s arms are wound tightly around him, his face buried in the crook of his neck as he tries to shove Roman into his chest. Roman just wraps his arms around him too, carefully twisting his fingers into the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie. 

“…um…”

“Nope.” Virgil tightens his grip as Roman makes to pull back. “You get hugs now. No buts about it.”

“Do I get to ask why?”

“Aside from the fact that you’ve just told me you didn’t feel like you could ask us for comfort so you had to summon other versions of us?”

Roman wisely keeps his mouth shut and just rests his chin on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil makes a noise that sounds vaguely like that’s what I thought. 

“…sorry?”

“Ah, shit, Princey, no,” Virgil mumbles, pulling back and looking Roman in the face, “I’m not—I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m—okay, I’m a little mad at myself and everyone else, but mostly I’m just sad, okay?”

“Since when have you been so transparent about what you’re feeling?”

As soon as he says it, he bites his lip so hard he almost draws blood. 

“Shit, Roman, don’t do that.” Virgil taps his chin. “Leggo, come on. I’m just—you’re gonna make yourself bleed, let go—there, that’s better. I’m trying to be better about it, okay, that’s it.”

Roman just nods. Is…is he sure this isn’t some other version of Virgil? There’s the big door to the Imagination in the hallway, after all, maybe…

“It is really me, by the way, I can hear you thinking about it over there.”

“Wait, you can what?”

“Not literally, Princey,” Virgil says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “but thanks for telling me I’m right.”

Roman makes a face and goes to pull away when Virgil just chuckles and holds him tighter. 

“Okay, that was mean.”

“Yes, yes, it was.”

“Look, just—you can come to us, okay? You don’t have to make versions of us that you think will comfort you ‘cause we won’t.”

“You—you mean that?”

“You see J around anywhere?”

Roman glances around. Sure enough, there’s no Janus. “Alright. I’ll—I’ll try.”

Virgil smiles at him—not a smirk, not that weird half-smile thing he does when he’s trying not to laugh, but a real smile—and claps him on the shoulder. “That’s all we can ask for, Princey. And uh, let me know if you need help catching any rogue versions of us, okay?”

Roman just nods dumbly as Virgil waves and walks out of his room. 

He glances at the door to the Imagination, still firmly shut.

Huh. 

———

“Hey, Virgil?”

Virgil takes out a headphone. “What’s up, Princey?”

“Have you seen Remus anywhere?”

“He said he was spending the day with the Kraken brood.” Virgil frowns. “Why, something wrong?”

“Well, he told me he was doing that too and there’s currently a Remus on top of the fridge doing his best to replace the water in the ice maker with slime.”

“What the—oh. Oh, is this one of the—okay. Yeah, what d’you need?”

“I think he’s only going to respond to your tempest tongue and I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got you.”

Virgil tucks his phone into his pocket and sets his headphones on the bed as he follows Roman down to the kitchen. Sure enough, there’s a Remus perched on top of the fridge, cackling wildly with his hands full of what looks like a blended version of Slimer from Ghostbusters. 

“Remus,” Virgil calls, many-layered voice getting the little gremlin’s attention, “get down from there.”

Remus pouts somehow while still cackling and lobs a handful of goo at them. Roman quickly summons an umbrella and blocks it. 

“Remus,” Virgil warns, “don’t make me come up there.”

Remus just cackles louder.

“Alright, you asked for it.”

He closes his eyes and concentrates for a few seconds, growing two feet taller and reaching up to scoop Remus up like a feral raccoon. He screeches, goo still saying everywhere, as Roman quickly grabs Virgil’s shoulder and sinks them out to his room. Virgil blinks, adjusting to the quick change, and Roman waves at him frantically by the open door. 

“Chuck him in!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!”

One gooey, cackling Remus later, Roman slams the door shut and lets out a sigh, reaching out to poof away the remaining slime. 

“Oh, that’s sick. Can you clean everything like that?”

“No, just the Imagination messes. Thanks for your help.”

“Eh, no problem. Used to have to do that when we were younger anyway.”

“…ah. I see.”

Virgil looks at him oddly when Roman suddenly appears to deflate, only to realize that Roman didn’t get to grow up with Remus. “Oh, hey, I didn’t mean—“

“No, no, it’s quite alright. We’re…well, I suppose we’re making up for lost time now. I certainly wouldn’t’ve known to just…” He makes a picking-up gesture with his arms. “How long have you been able to grow like that?”

“I think it’s a fight-or-flight thing.”

“Got it.”

There are a few moments of awkward silence. 

“Well, I should let you get back to…what were you doing?”

“Oh, I was watching this show on Netflix. It’s called My Name.”

“Wait, is that the one about the girl whose father gets killed in the first episode and then she goes on this whole journey to try and find who was responsible?”

“Yeah, ‘ve you heard of it?”

“I was going to try and watch it! What episode are you on?”

“Uh…episode two. I’m not that far into it yet. But there’s only, like, six episodes or something.”

“Would you—would you want to watch it with me? Not like together, together, but—like a book club sort of thing?”

Virgil is not going to helplessly smile at how cute Roman is when he’s all eager, he’s not. “Sure. That’d be fun.”

He is going to smile when Roman grins so wide it looks like his face must hurt. 

———

“Therapy isn’t enough,” Virgil announces as he strides into Roman’s room, “I need to be weird about that old man.”

Roman chuckles and looks up from where he is at his desk, typing away at his computer. “So you watched the next episode, huh?”

“Look, I don’t know why he insists on making everything as dramatic as possible, but he does and it works for him.”

“So this is about that scene where he just rips his shirt halfway open for no reason, huh?”

“For no reason? Excuse me?” Virgil flops on Roman’s bed. “It is his gay-given right to be that dramatic and it’s working for him.”

“Seems like it’s working for you too.”

“Don’t act like you’re above it, you spent twenty minutes waxing poetic about how the framing around him sitting in his office chair was poetic cinema.”

“Yes, because I’m a storyteller and I can appreciate the use of framing in film and television to contribute to said story.”

“Uh-huh. How’s the writing going over there?”

“Don’t talk to me or my Untitled Document (1) ever again.”

Virgil laughs, head lolling back against the pillows as Roman shakes his head in mock sternness. “He’s so gone for him.”

“Who is? The assistant for him or him for the dead guy?”

“Yes.”

“You’re correct and you should say it.” He squints at the screen. “Wait, what’s a gender-neutral term for parent?”

A pause, then the rustle of fabric. “I want you to repeat what you just said to yourself.”

Roman does. “I might be stupid.”

“‘Might be,’ he says.”

“Shut up.”

“What’s the word I’m looking for that is like the exact word I’m looking for?”

“Leave me alone.”

Another laugh from behind him as he continues trying to type. But the thought of actually having Virgil here to talk about something they’re both watching is a lot more tempting than working on this idea that isn’t even due for a few more weeks anyway. He chews on his lip for a second before saving his work and closing it down. He did have more than half of it completed, thank you very much. 

He turns around, seeing Virgil sprawled over his bed like it’s his own, scrolling on his phone, and just takes a moment to look. 

Virgil looks…happy. It’s a good look on him. 

“When you’re done staring at me, I got a post to show you.”

“What is it?”

“Slow-motion GIFs of that moment.”

“Move over, then.”

———

By this point, when Roman asks him for help with wrangling an escaped version of one of them, they can do it while having a conversation. 

“I followed one of the main blogs in the fandom yesterday,” Virgil says as he grabs two of a Janus’s arms. “They followed me back.”

“Oh, really?” Roman grabs two more and starts hauling him toward the Imagination, deftly knocking aside a swinging cane. “You got to mutual status that quickly?”

“They said they liked my meta posts. Gave you credit, of course—“

“As you should.”

“—but yeah, they seem cool. It’s weird, I know it’s not like actually having a celebrity you can interact with, but it’s like—“

“It’s like being relatively famous just by having them know you. Do you think they’re laughing at your silly little jokes every morning,” Roman teases as they get the squirming noodle to the door, “while they’re having breakfast?”

“Thank goodness, maybe they’ll spare me when the cops come to kill all of us.”

“Or a rival gang.”

They shove the weird version of Janus back into the Imagination and shake themselves off. Roman picks up a piece of paper and jots it down. 

“Is it just me,” Virgil mutters, “or are they getting…weirder?”

“This is the first real weird one you’ve seen.”

“That has some implications that I do not like.”

“Uh-huh.” Roman shudders. “Just you wait. They’ll get weirder.”

“Is it too late to back out of this?”

“No. I can stop asking you if you want.”

Virgil reaches out and knuckles Roman’s shoulder. “I’m kidding. I couldn’t leave you to deal with all of that on your own.”

Roman doesn’t look at him for a moment, fiddling with the fingers on one hand. “I dunno, it’s just…this is pretty much a direct result of me not being able to deal with my own problems by myself, so…I would understand if you wanted to stop having to deal with them.”

Virgil looks at him for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, he says: “you know, sometimes I struggle with feeling useful.”

Roman whips his head around. “What?”

“Well, you guys come up with ideas, I’m only here to…point out the problems. Not that I’m not saying that’s not useful, but like…I gotta wait until you do all your work before I can even think about doing mine, do you get what I mean?”

“I believe so…Virgil, you—“

“So when you ask me for help with this,” Virgil says, speaking smoothly over him, “it makes me feel useful. This…this helps me too.”

Roman stops, staring at him in something that’s almost wonder. “It does?”

“Yeah, Princey. We—we’re all damaged in some way. We just gotta find someone else whose damage is compatible with ours.”

Roman blinks a few times as a slow smile spreads across his face. “Why, Virgil. That was almost poetic.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really, I’d love to see what you could write—“

“Shut up!”

———

“Hey, Roman?”

Roman looks up from his desk. “What’s up?”

Virgil shifts his weight from side to side. “Can we—this is a stupid question.”

“I’ve adjusted my expectations accordingly.” He shuts his laptop and turns to face him. “What can I do for you?”

“Can…can we go into the Imagination?” When Roman pauses for a moment, he quickly keeps going. “It’s just—I know I see it a bit when we throw the others back in and there’s not really a big difference and it’s all what you make of it but I just—you know what? Never mind. This was stupid.”

“No, no—“ Roman quickly stands up to catch Virgil’s elbow as he turns to leave— “no, Virgil, it’s not stupid. I’d love to take you to the Imagination.”

“You…you would?”

“Yeah. Do you wanna go now?”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“Mindlessly scrolling, that’s it. Come on,” he coaxes, leading Virgil back toward the door, “it’ll be fun.”

Virgil keeps watching him warily until Roman manages to get them through the door. He closes it firmly behind them as Virgil stares around at the field they find themselves in, littered with wildflowers and grassy hills as it stretches out almost endlessly in front of them. 

“…whoa.”

“Do you like it?”

“Princey, this is…this is fucking pretty.”

Unbelievably, Roman feels himself start to blush. “You like it?”

“Fuck—yeah, Roman. This is—how do you not spend all of your time here?”

“Well, it gets a little boring just staring at fields of flowers forever, and sometimes—“

As if on cue, a massive bank of thunderclouds rolls in overhead and it begins to rain. 

“Sometimes it does that,” Roman sighs, already turning back to the Imagination door, “I’m sorry, I really can’t predict those, they just happen sometimes. Come on, you can borrow something dry, I don’t…”

He trails off when he notices Virgil’s not next to him. He looks back. 

Virgil stands in the middle of the flowers, his head tilted back toward the sky. The purple-black of his hoodie almost perfectly matches the purple-black of the clouds. His eyes close, feeling the rain on his face, hands slightly outstretched as if to welcome it. He looks—he looks—he—

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Virgil?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I—can I kiss you?”

Virgil looks at him and chuckles. “Getting real cliché, huh, Princey? Was this your plan?”

“N-no, not necessarily, I—wait, what? You’re not surprised?”

“I’m kinda surprised you asked first, but you are Romance.”

“You—you—“ Roman blinks. “Wait, you want to kiss me too?”

Virgil just grins and walks up to him. 

“Hi,” he murmurs as he kisses Roman, both of their eyes fluttering shut as the rain pours over them. 

Roman doesn’t need to worry about this not being the real Virgil. He’d never be capable of Imagining something as incredible as this. 

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[c-is-for-circinate]

The story creates the story tells itself. That's it, that's what this is, it's the thing I always end up saying when Critical Role hits me right in the solar plexus, because stories are how we make sense of events after they've already happened. The story is not a thing in the moment it is created, it is a thing you can only know the shape of once it's over with, and then you look at it and you say, yes, of COURSE, it only ever could have been this from the first, couldn't it?

Seven miserable loners and outcasts and reckless illegitimate rebels meet in a tavern with no desire whatsoever for heroism. Their morals are quickfire and slapdash, casual and arbitrary, we'll help out these people, those people aren't our problem, we dislike those fucks over there. There is a war brewing and they want nothing to do with it. Fuck fame, fuck fortune, we'll keep to ourselves and play fast and loose with crime and take care of our own and maybe some lucky randoms we meet along the way. We'll fight and scrap and tussle amongst ourselves because none of us even entirely understand our own morals, let alone how to reconcile them with any of these other half-assed motherfuckers we apparently have to care about now.

They fuck up. One of their own dies.

They drown in rage and fury for just long enough, until they can stop gasping and growling for vengeance to take a breath. Then they run.

They run, because they do not care to stand and fight: not against evil or dragons or tyrant kings, not against their own grief. They flee the country. Nobody is chasing them, but they flee anyway, to avoid shackles, to avoid control, to avoid being set to anyone else's purpose, to avoid their own loss and their own sins. They run to the sea. (They find danger, and shackles, and control, and somebody else's purpose there again. The world is full of shackles and those who would wield them.)

They grieve. They avoid their grief. They sanctify their fallen comrade. They do not aim to be anything, this ragtag group of miserable loners and outcasts. The only thing they know themselves to be is each other's. They do not know themselves at all, but this grief, this loss--they know it, at least, know it together, an iron band binding them all heart to heart. It is the first truth they have to hold on to, the thing that lets them see each other as the only thing that matters, the only thing that's really real.

They face down a cult and win, because the other option is shackles or death. They face a demigod and flee, again, again, again. Always they flee.

They flee towards home and home is burned. They have seen loss and they have seen death and it finds them no matter how they run away, so maybe it's time to change direction. Maybe it's time to run towards. It's still running, still half-mindless directionality, it's still familiar. They are not heroes, they are not somebodies, they have never wanted to be somebody. This group has never wanted to be anybody, not as a group, not when they're whole. They're nobodies, trying to take care of themselves, take care of their own, to grow past their grief that they pretend they're gone from now, mostly, most days, when they can. (Pretend it's not the grief that made them each other's in the first place, like none of the fighting and scrapping and scrabbling along beside one another ever had in the first place.)

They bulldoze and trip and stumble and run towards instead of away, for once, just this once, the very first time they've run towards a thing since that last time, the only time, when they temporarily lost three of their own and then broke themselves trying to chase them (trying to chase vengeance). Towards is so much more dangerous than away. Run towards something hard enough, you might actually find it. You might have to become somebody when you get there, instead of just not-being somebody else.

They're somebody now. This rag-tag, broken, mismatched knot of nobodies, not even mercenaries because they're too skittish to even really look for paid work, they're somebodies now, or so Someone Important says. It fits like an ill-tailored coat that they've been forced into without ever making a choice. Without ever realizing, entirely, how much they never made a choice. The world said congrats, you're heroes now, and these killers and thieves went, well, fuck.

And then they tried to be heroes anyway. Not because it fit, not because they knew what to do, but because the mess of them, the seven of them, barely knew who they were to begin with. If the world was shouting HEROES! YOU'RE HEROES! BE HEROES! at them this very loudly--then don't they have to wear the coat that's being given to them? Don't they have to be, have to find some way to become, the heroes they've tripped and stumbled into appearing?

They don't know themselves. All they've done so far is run from themselves--from parents and children and their own crimes, from chains and challenges, limits and labels. They only barely know who they're not. They couldn't know who they are. How do they know they aren't heroes? The one thing they know, the only thing they have, the only thing they've ever run towards, is each other. The one thing they know for absolute sure and certain that defines and binds them is that steel band of grief, that first loss, the thing that broke and forged them to begin with.

So they look for answers in their grief, in what they've lost, because if it's the first true thing about them as a group, them as a whole, then it must be able to tell them who they have to be now. They sanctify their fallen, twist meaning and moral out of conversational confrontational casualness, make a mission statement out of leave every place better than you found it. They forget who he was, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. (They try to convince themselves that they don't have to be petty and venal and mortal and flawed.) They cling to what he meant.

And they fail. God, looking back on it all, with the shape of the story and the shape it's become, is it any wonder they failed? Petty and venal and moral and flawed, these rough-edged rabble-rousers, not even mercenaries because they don't even know how to take orders besides their own. Trying to be heroes. Trying to stop a war, because that's their job, right? It has to be. That's the shape of the coat they're trying to wear, that's the shape of leave every place better than you found it, that's the thing they crashed straight into while they were running, running, running the way they've always run, run, run. So they look for answers everywhere, because they have to have the answers to everything, and they scry and they spy and they play sides. They meet with queens. They turn to each other on the streets on the way out of the palace and ask in horror, "What did we just do?"

They run and they run and they trip and they fall and they unleash more evil than there was to start with. They lose one of their own, again. They sit in shattered shards, and what just happened? How could we have seen this coming? What did we just do?

They don't know themselves. They've been running from themselves, trying to run towards misty shapes they can't define in a too-big coat and too-small shoes, without any real practice in running towards to begin with. They don't know themselves, but they need to move forwards. They need to be whole again, the six, the seven (the eight, the nein). How can they do that if they don't know themselves?

And--finally, finally, they learn.

They learn. They throw a sword in a volcano and forge a sword anew. They rediscover their own mind, their own heart, covered in blood with each other's blood on their hands. They walk into their abusers' homes and then walk back out again alive and un-alone and unchained. They recover bodies. They recover families. They find themselves.

(And the selves they find are mortal and flawed, because they have always been mortal and flawed, because they are built to be mortal and flawed, because they are still the same misbegotten messes they have ever been. But they are stronger for having sought themselves out, for what they have found. They are the stronger for those threads of heroism they tried to, managed to keep.)

They stop a war, incidentally. In the end it's not even all that much due to them. They sit, nobodies on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and watch in silence. It chafes a little, not to be in the center of things, to be able to be the heroes it felt like the world told them they had to be. (It feels a little like relief.)

They find themselves. They find themselves, and they find another lost and broken man, miserable outcast loner, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. They only start to realize how they know themselves now when they see how much he doesn't.

(The peace treaty happens, happened, is/was/will be happening, because they tripped and trembled and tried their way into it, but in the end a thousand chess pieces moved to make it so, and it is signed on a boat where we do not even set foot. The culmination, the crowning glory, the true victory of that whole middle story, is a perfectly-dressed man in chains in the hold of a boat, admitting to his own sins. It is secret and it is individual, and it is the concrete proof above all proofs that our nobody unknowns are finally their own very-known selves. Because they were Essek, once--but know they know their own mirrors well enough to look at him and recognize that.)

They know so much, now, about who they are and who they are to become. They have looked at their pasts and, yes, flinched away, but they've seen, and they know, now, as much as they can handle. In the end, the one thing they don't know the true shape of, the one thing left to seek that must be sought, is of course (of course, of course) that very first thing they thought they knew to begin with. The one thing left to face is their grief. The one thing left to discover is what shaped it from the very start.

So they run, like they have always run. In amongst the snow it is the very distillation of running, towards and away, away and towards, chasing and fleeing and fleeing and chasing, are we in front or are they? It's every mistake they ever made all over again. It's every new lesson they've ever learned.

They don't ask any more, what's the right thing to do. They don't need to ask. They know, already, swift and sure and confident as they once stumbled and dodged. This is a thing that must be stopped. It is ours to stop it. Yes, it is a heavy, clumsy coat to wear, but it fits us out here in the snows where we're not trying to prove our heroism to anybody any more, for good or for evil. Yes, it weighs on our backs and tangles our legs, but it fits as well as any role we've ever tried to wear. It fits us more than it could ever fit anybody else. It's our role. It's our coat. It was forged of our choices, our pieces, our fights. It was forged of our grief.

Nobody else is here with us, to watch, to know. Just like when we were seven shiftless, aimless, worthless nobodies wandering through a circus tent on the way to nowhere (everywhere) else. There's us and the demon born from our grief, the demon who sprang up and died and is the only reason we any of us ever met. Just us, just the nine of us, three and three and three. The three who were dragged off in chains and gave us something to run towards, that very first time. The three who chased, and watched their companion fall, and faced their grief head on, and ran. And Lucien, and Caduceus, and Essek, beginning and middle and end: The man whose demise allowed us to come together, reborn from the loss that bound us. The man who found us and told us that grief is inevitable and passing, that we must continue with it, that we still had such a long way to go. The man who we found like a reflection in an aging mirror, reflecting our own progress back at us, showing us how far we've come and what we've learned how to be.

Of course it had to end this way. (There were so very many other ways it could have ended, once. Of course there were none at all.) Of course it would be nine and nine in the end. Of course it would be this final perfect marriage of heroism and anonymity, for this group that's finally figured out their selves, past and future and right-the-fuck-now, saviors and heroes and petty nobody fucks. Of course it would be this.

And of course, of course, of course it had to go like this. Of course, after everything, the first six of them would try to reverse that grief that forged and tied them. Of course they couldn't. Of course they couldn't, of course, of course--(and was it fate, that 1-in-20 chance, that 5% chance, that 1 on a die? was it fate like the dice are always fate in every game, rolling out poetry with every throw, because all the rolls that aren't quite poetic enough get forgotten?) Of course it was a 1, not some other number, not some sheepish failure of a 4. Of course the universe itself would speak to say no.

No, says the universe, that is not how this story goes--because the road is full of shattered shards, and our heroes only learned to be heroes by discovering how bloodily bad at it they were, by nearly causing the apocalypse before wrestling it back again. Of course the universe itself says that after all this time, after changing so far and discovering so much, this the inciting thing from the very beginning that bound this group in steel must not be changed. Of course, with all their pleas, the six people who knew him cannot bring him back.

Of course that's how the story would go. And of course there's Essek, the man who met this party so long after their throes of mourning that it had sunk into their bones and grown quiet before they ever knew him, who cannot accept this outcome. Of course it's Essek, who never met and has barely heard of this man, this grief--Essek who has not yet grown into the quiet acceptance of his own grief, who does not yet know his own mirror, who has only just barely begun to understand running to instead of from and still doesn't know the shape of what he might eventually choose to chase--who seethes in rage. Who cries about not fair.

Of course it's Caduceus who takes the inspiration of that anger, that grief, and changes it all. Of course it's Caduceus, who the group only even found out of their grief. (They tracked him down to beg to know if he could raise the dead in the first place. Do you remember? One, two, three, Caleb and Beau and Nott, finding him in his graveyard to beg him to help.) Of course it's Caduceus, created to serve and to heal and to make so, so very sure that everyone understood that death could be necessary and final. Of course it's Caduceus, who stood over Mollymauk's grave by the roadside and put a hand in the dirt and cast decompose, because what is dead should be allowed to stay that way until it grows into something else. Of course it is. Because Caduceus has learned his own shape by now, too--and it is still full of devotion, of dedication to the dead remaining dead, but it is steadfast and selfish sometimes too, forged in friendship, full enough of love to try, just this once.

Of course Caduceus gave the diamond but didn't try to perform the ritual, at first, at first. Of course he's spent so very long so very gently urging his friends to reconcile themselves to their loss, to letting their loved one sleep. Of course, in the end, in the very end, he weighed all his faith that once held so firm and final and without exceptions, with this grief before him, and found just this once, maybe, within it.

Of course when he tried, the man who lives to put things in the ground (to put Molly in the ground), even after the fates and the gods and the universe had spoken--when, just this once, against the will of the natural order and the universe and the power of destiny, he asked, just once, for the path of things to reverse--of course. Of course he was the voice that needed to speak for the story to listen.

Of course Molly would end the campaign. Of course this had to be the finale of it all. Of course this ritual--not this fight, not this mission, not even this apocalypse, but this ritual, this resurrection--must be the end of things. Of course it's the end of the story. You can't go any farther than this.

There can never be nine of us. It won't be ironic any more. But irony, after all, is just a way of running from sincerity, sometimes running away from sincerity so hard and fast you crash back into it from the other side. Like running from being a person, from being that person, from letting things matter, from mattering. Like running so far and fast from being found that eventually you have no choice but to find yourself. Irony's a shield against having to know the truth.

There's nine of them. It's not ironic. It's perfect, but it's not ironic. It's just the truth. They know who they are, now. Not who they were running away from being. Not who they tried to be for the sake of anyone else. Who they always are. Always were.

This story could have been a hundred thousand different things, when it started. Of course it was always fated to end with nine.

[nyashykyunnie]

Tw: childhood trauma, slight bit of anxiety

Hello, if you don't mind, could you write romantic comfort headcanons for Childe whose s/o has certain behaviours that indicate someone has hurt them in the past? For example, they tense up while thinking about the person who hurt them, and they have little to no interest in daily activities? Thank you (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

(Please delete this request if it makes you feel uncomfortable!)

A/N: Dw it's absolutely fine! More Childe Anon Req Comfort coming right up for you anon! And I’m sorry I dun really get that part with the “Little To No Interest” thing, I’m not confident about my comprehending skills so AAA I’m so sorry;((

Trigger Warnings!: Mentions of anxiety!

ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖 𝚡 𝙶𝙽! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣: Mᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs Oғ Cʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ Aʙᴜsᴇ

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

.     　﹢　˖    　✦      ¸ .　﹢　 ° 　¸.    ° ˖ ･ ·̩　　 ｡　☆　　　ﾟ ＊ 　 ｡　☆ ✦˖

Perceptive as ever, eleventh of the Fatui harbingers. He knew something was wrong the moment he noticed your habits. 

He wont confront you about it, he’ll wait until you tell him yourself. It’s not good asking someone something blunt and it might lead to further misunderstandings. He wont rush you, Childe trusts you.

However, if he notices that is a bit severe, he wont hesitate a tad bit to step in.

But what alarmed him a lot was when he started to notice your face paled immediately. He just blinked and there you were- Standing with a look as if your soul was sucked out of you.

He immediately took action, he brought you somewhere private to sit you down. Childe will accompany you.

Tartaglia will try to divert your attention towards something else, he’ll start talking about his work. If that’s not working, he’ll rub circles on your back or trace his finger on your scalp. 

He’ll sometimes get up to fetch something to drink,.. Or maybe you want some comfort food? That’s fine, he’ll be back quickly with the tidbits you need.

He is really a patient one, he’s from a big family. He knows that it’ll take time before you tell him. 

And it’s fine by him, as long as you know that you’re not alone it’s alright.

However, once you do start telling him what’s wrong, his eyes immediately darkened in a dangerous why.

‘They...Did what?...To You?...’ His face, although composed- His insides were churning in absolute hatred and loath.

So this is why you are like this? This is why you have little to no interest in almost anything? This is why?

Tartaglia wanted to hunt down whoever did this to you and teach them a lesson.

Wounds may heal but the scars left behind engraves into the soul of a person and changes them drastically. Even the sightest cut can even discreetly change someone, what more if it’s more than just a wound?

“Y/N, babe, look at me” Childe softly cooes, removing his glove and cupping your cheek. “I’m here”

His cerulean blue orbs locking with yours as he rubbed his thumb at the back of your hand.

“ They’ve hurt you in the past, so that’s done. I know you’re scared because it’s now a scar inside you.” Childe said, his eyes not faltering to look at yours. “However I’ll help you heal.”

His gaze, firm and honest. Sincere and loving.

“I’ll help you move forward, I swear nothing can ever hurt you ever again” He pressed further, but not in a startling way. “You’re strong. Maybe you’ve heard this before, maybe you’re tired of hearing it- But I do not care. The broken can be fixed. There’s nothing beyond repair. You can start anew and I will be there with you. Every step, as slow or as fast as much as you’d like. I’ll match your pace. I will never let you be alone ever again.”

Childe made sure your eyes are locked on him and him only, so you can see him sincer he is right now. So you can see that this is a promise he will forever keep.

“I’m not going to tell you to just forget about it, no, saying that would just be like getting stabbed and getting told to just stop bleeding” He says. “It’ll take time for you to heal and it doesn’t matter to me.”

“The one who suffered from the past is you, the one dealing with the scars is you. However, the one who will heal from it is also you. You are no longer alone, I’ll say it as much as it takes to have you know that there is someone you can lean on when your anxiety comes attacking you. That someone is me,Y/N”

That’s right, you’re not alone. No matter how much you feel so unwanted and haunted by the past, remember that somewhere- someone is more than willing to give you a shoulder. Someone out there is more than willing to lead you to a tomorrow with no traces of melancholy.

Childe is willing, willing, to do it all for you. You matter to him so much than anyone would ever think, he’ll kneel down for you and you only. A villain, a hero, it doesn’t matter how anyone else sees him. It’s just you and the state of you now matters. No matter how many fears you have, he will comfort you. No matter how many scars you hide, he will help you heal from them. No matter how many tears you shed, he’ll wipe them for you.

You wont ever suffer from anything alone anymore now that he is here. It’s an oath of his now that nothing will ever bring you any harm ever again.

So just trust him, dont doubt him. There no strins attached behind him, there are no black intentions behind this. He is sincerer than he ever was. 

Take his hand and heal. No matter how hard it is, it’s fine. He’s there. 

[endureandplay]

The Last of Us 2 - Symbolism of Eyes

---MAJOR SPOILER WARNING----

I would like to talk about something that really stuck with me after playing The Last of Us 2, and which really made me think a lot. This is gonna be a loong post lol. Not sure anybody will read this. 

We know that the motto of the Fireflys is "When you're lost in the darkness, look for the light." Quite obviously, the ongoing problem addressed in The Last of Us 2 is that our characters “have stopped looking for the light.” The game revolves around blind hate, revenge and retaliation. And loss as the origin of those. 

Ellie’s journal entries are as dark as can be. Most of them are dedicated to Joel of course. You’ll probably have noticed that she never draws his eyes. All she does is practice drawing eyes a lot. What’s more, she keeps talking about feeling blind herself, she says she’s lost the light.

For me, it’s like she doesn’t see any hope, no joy, no future in which she can find true happiness ever again. She’s *had* this hope. She wanted to forgive Joel for what he did, start anew. They’ve wasted a lot of time because Ellie understandably couldn’t forgive him so easily for what he’s done. At the end of the game, we get to see the last conversation that happened between them, the night before Joel dies. In this conversation, Ellie tells him that she “would like to try” to forgive him. And that’s probably the moment they reconnected after years of distance, tension and resentment. Ellie speaks of this last conversation in one of her early journal entries: 

I was thinking about the meaning of Ellie not being able to draw his eyes. One that came to my mind is that whenever she tries to imagine them, all she can see is his disfigured face right before he dies. 

Ellie looked him in the eyes and begged for him to get up. It was the last time they really looked each other in the eyes, had this connection, maybe saw all the things they went through together flash before them right before it was taken away from them. We find out that she has PTSD or something very similar to it when she lives on the farm with Dina. She can’t get the images out of her head: 

Despite them having other people in their lives after settling in Jackson, they complemented and gave each other what they needed the most. 

Despite Ellie saying it, we know that they they could never be done with each other, because too much connects them. That’s what the first game was all about, after all. 

Ellie had hurt Joel over and over again. He’s not a hero, but we love him, because we love Ellie, and because we can understand why he did what he did. And Ellie does too. Her pain and hurt is just as understandable. She met him with almost cruel resentment and rejection all the time, got angry at him for small things, even when he meant well (like after she kissed Dina). 

It’s this fight they had that she remembers right before deciding to finish what she’s started, to find Abby and kill her. When she couldn’t sleep on that farm, she got up, went to her room, closed the window, knocked over the guitar and thought of that night. 

And I don’t think this is all about revenge. I think Ellie feels deeply guilty for having been to him that way, because she understands how much she means to him, and because she understands how deeply hurt and broken he is himself. She never wanted things to be like this between them, and she just wanted to forgive him in the end - she loves him and understands his pain better than anybody else.  

But she never got to get things right. This chance was taken away from them, her forgiveness came “too late”. I think Ellie is so deeply broken herself, and I feel like she hates herself. Hates that she was the one who didn’t turn when Riley did. That her life only would have mattered if they killed her to make a cure. All these years, she was mean and cruel toward him. Now he’s dead, and part of her wants to make it up to him. 

By wanting to kill Abby, she doesn’t only want to avenge Joel, she wants to redeem herself. 

Notice how she can’t draw Joel’s and Abby’s eyes, but she can draw JJ’s and Jesse’s eyes? 

I think that that she can’t draw their eyes has a good reason. With Joel, it’s not only that she can’t get the images out of her head. I also don’t think it’s because she can’t remember what he looked like - I think she can. All too well. 

I think it’s because if she imagined his eyes before her, it’s like Joel would reflect everything she does and did. His eyes would “stare” at her, as she wrote in one journal entry, but then she replaced it with “smile”. She associates him with warmth and love, but what she does is losing herself. And he’d never want that. She does things that deeply traumatize her more and more. She tortures people, kills a pregnant woman. Looking him in the eyes would mean reflecting on her actions and on herself. Putting loved ones at risk and prioritizing revenge while neglecting her family and other relationships. Looking him in the eyes would mean for her to acknowledge that Joel would never condone that. He’s gone and nothing she does can change it. And he’d want her to be safe and stay true to herself and her values. Not be blinded by hate and grief. 

Abby’s eyes represent something similar. Ellie knows that Joel crossed a lot of people. She knows he killed hundreds of people, especially Fireflys, including Marlene (although we don’t know if she knows that). She knows that he did a lot of bad shit in the past. Abby and her friends spared Ellie and Tommy, and that indicates that they aren’t universally bad people. Even when Dina asks Ellie what she thinks why they spared them, Ellie doesn’t want to talk about it and says that it doesn’t matter. But it does. 

And she’s avoiding and denying this gray area. She’s dividing the world into good and bad now, disregarding everything in between. Even in the end, when she sees that Abby is just a normal human being like Ellie is, taking care of Lev, she feels obliged to kill her. 

Jesse and JJ don’t represent her blind hate. They represent the love and people in her life that still make her happy and care about her. The life she could have, if she were able to “leave it all behind”. She doesn’t associate them with pain and loss. 

Only when she finally has the choice to kill Abby, she remembers the last conversation she had with Joel - and it was about forgiveness. But it was not only about deciding to forgive him. It was about understanding that the world isn’t as simple as good and bad, black or white. People are more than that, just like Joel was neither a hero, nor a villain. Just like Abby is neither a hero nor a villain. 

Of course, by deciding to break the cycle of revenge, which is the most obvious topic in the game, she spares Lev of going through the same pain Ellie and Abby did. But I think something deep inside her forgives Abby for what she’s done. I think Ellie understands that Abby isn’t just a bad person, just like Joel wasn’t. By stopping there, Ellie undergoes the growth not to be like Abby and kill the one who’s responsible for her loss, just like Abby grew and decided not to kill Dina despite the fact that Ellie killed Mel. 

And she finally lets her mask slip. When she decides to let Abby live, she finally accepts that Joel is dead and “reconciles” with him. She decides not to turn into something she’s not and let her grief and hate get the better of her. Ellie understands what she’s done, the mistake she’s made. How she’s lost herself and how she wronged Dina. 

And that’s when she can finally draw his eyes. 

[tales-unique]

FAULTS OF THE HEART IV

Chapter 4

“It’s healing nicely,” Alucard hums, nimble fingers gently tracing the puckered scar on your shoulder, looking for any problematic signs. “I still get some stiffness in it,” you acknowledge with a small laugh, “but at least I can use my arm again!” It's been a long, tiring road to recovery, but you have finally completed it. Your arm is no longer useless, wrapped up in bandages. Now it’s almost as good as before. You can even use a bow, which means that you are now ready to leave the castle, and Alucard, behind.

A frown darkens your expression at the thought; you’ve become quite fond of him in the time you’ve been there and he seems to have warmed to you too. “Is something wrong?” Alucard’s voice is gentle, his brow furrowed. He’s pulled back his hand, probably assuming that he’s the source of your souring mood. “Oh,” you force a smile, waving your hand dismissively, “no, not really. It’s fine.” Alucard sees through the flimsy lie easily and embarrassment colours your cheeks a dusty pink when he fixes you with a deadpan stare. You tug your sleeve back into place, looking away from him. You press back against the counter top you’re leaning against, distracting yourself by staring at a cracked tile on the wall. Soft afternoon light filters through the kitchen window, painting him in beautiful golden light; it does nothing to help you in that moment. “You know that doesn’t work on me,” he chides, circling around to face you. He’s grown bolder around you as of late, challenging you more often, and though it forces you to confront your emotions you rather like this side of him. He’s healing just as much as you are and you feel content knowing that you’re a part of that process. Rolling your eyes at his remark you cross your arms sulkily over your chest, eyes turning to stare at the floor in one last ditch attempt to make him drop it. It could really use a scrub, you think. It only delays the inevitable as he stands unmoved, shifting in his stance to lean against the counter too. He’s in it for the long haul, so you have no choice but to give in. “What’s wrong?” He asks again when you look at him miserably. “Now that my shoulder is better, there’s no real reason for me to be here anymore,” you murmur wistfully. You knew it would come to this eventually, yet you never seemed to make peace with it. You thought you had, but it turned out to be nothing more than a silly facade to try and hide the fact you didn’t want to leave. Alucard is silent, but the look of shock on his face speaks volumes. He hadn’t even considered the idea that you would leave. Like you, he had fallen into the routine of navigating around you and your ways, as if you had always been there at the castle. It’s just so easy and even when he had tried to fight it he found himself becoming even more compelled by you. “I suppose so,” he answers finally, crestfallen. A lump forms in your throat when you look at him, seeing how dejected he appears. “I’m sorry.” It’s pitiful, but you don’t know what else to say. To impose yourself further on him and his hospitality after he had already saved your life just seemed selfish and yet it felt as equally unkind to simply abandon him. He chuckles, a sad, sardonic sound beneath its silken lilt. “There’s no need to be,” he states, oddly cold despite the softness of his voice, “after all, there’s no reason for you to stay anymore is there?” It hurts. You don’t want it to and you know that you have no right to be but it penetrates deep, twisting and taking root inside. “No,” your whisper, scared your voice will break, “I guess not.” Confused, Alucard regards your drop in mood. He had anticipated that you would be happy to finally be able to continue on with your life, no longer bound to him or the castle for care of your injury. Yet here you stand, trying so hard to keep yourself from breaking. Your eyes glisten and you catch your lip between your teeth; all telltale signs. Alucard realizes with alarming clarity that he’s upset you, because you don’t want to leave. Just like he doesn’t want you to go, either. It was defensive, to lash out, and all it’s done is serve as further reasoning for you to remove yourself from his life. He’s such an idiot. “Wait,” he suddenly says and it breaks his heart, as dead as he had considered it to be, when you look at him with such a forlorn expression. You aren’t sure what to expect but you force yourself not to hope, knowing that it could and most likely would bite you. So you’re pleasantly surprised when it’s not what you anticipated at all. “Do you,” he starts, awkwardly, voice alight with

trepidation, “not want to go?” With wide eyes you regard him, startled. Hearing it out in the open so brazenly has your mind stuttering, your body stiff. Of course it was true, but that wasn’t what had you shocked. It was the fact that, for a brief moment, you saw relief flash in his eyes. But maybe you were wrong. Or maybe he was wrong. You stare at one another in silence, neither able to break the stalemate of truths exposed. In such a relatively short time you’d both grown accustomed to each other's presence and, if you were being completely honest, you were scared to leave the safety of the castle. Out there you were just one woman, no allies, no home, nothing. It’s sobering to know that your situation hadn’t changed since the first time he had asked you about leaving, what you would do and where would you go once you were healed and you’re not quite sure you’re ready to admit how pathetic it made you feel. “No,” you swallow thickly, blinking away stubborn tears, “I don’t.” You remind him of a child, afraid. You’re trying to make yourself as small as you can, no doubt hoping that the ground would open up beneath your feet and swallow you whole. It stirs something in him, the memory of a feeling brought on by your plight; the night that his mother was burned alive and his father turned his back on humanity as a whole. The same feeling he felt when Sumi and Taka betrayed him. Lost. A sorrowful, imploring look flits across Alucard's face and his fingers itch, wanting to offer you comfort. His mother would run her fingers through his hair, murmuring soft words of encouragement to help lift his spirits. “Then you don’t have to go anywhere.” Alucard offers instead, afraid of what such tenderness may invite. Your warmth still set him on edge, but slowly and surely he was coming around to the idea of being as he once was; open and inviting without the need to guard himself. If there was anyone he could see himself opening up to again it would be you. “I have been ignorant to your situation,” he sighs, looking away in shame, “I should have known how difficult it is to pick up the pieces of one's life after they’ve been shattered, especially without help. I’m— I’m sorry.” It’s a quiet admission, shrouded in misery and mystery. He had yet to reveal much about himself, but you could fathom that he had been the receiver of much sorrow in his lifetime so far from the darkness he carried with him like a ball and chain. It tugged at your heart to see him so isolated from the very world itself, threatening to tear it apart. You quickly swipe at your eyes, trying in vain to banish the tears that broke free, warm trails lining your cheeks. “Don’t be, Alucard,” you inhale deeply, trying to ground yourself. You can’t stand the sudden look of guilt on his face for making you cry. “I should have told you about how I felt,” your voice trembles and you scowl at yourself, feeling silly, “I should have been honest instead of hiding it away like an idiot.” Crossing your arms tightly over your chest you try to focus on something else, though it’s hard when all you can see blurs with your tears. You angrily wipe at them, frustrated, until your hands are gently taken away by his, the grasp warm and comforting. “I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he murmurs, looking over your face with a gentle expression. Your mouth is slightly parted with shock and your eyes, rimmed red and shimmering, are wide and locked onto him. “I think you’re so very human.” The tenderness in which the words are said, and the endearing meaning behind them, sends your heart soaring and you can’t help the smile that comes to your lips. A soft, breathless laugh passes your lips with ease, the tension leaving your shoulders. Your tears start anew and for a moment Alucard thinks he’s done something wrong, but from the way your laughter mingles with your shaky breaths he knows that isn’t the case. He, too, smiles at the warmth seeping back into you, the dark melancholy that had hung over you like a veil lifting and he lets go of your hands slowly. Neither of you comment on the way

you long for the contact to return; the simple, fragile bond inspiring a sense of yearning. “Are you alright?” He asks once you seem to have regained control of yourself, your tears having stopped and your gentle peels of laughter melting away. “I am,” you hum, looking at him with an intense fondness that he had seldom seen before. You are so bright in that moment, all because he has given you a place to belong, and it gives him hope. If only his father could have had such a chance, perhaps things may have turned out differently for him.

[telehxhtrash]

I can't fucking stop thinking about Koala Man's speech, and how it probably parallels Gon's situation and foreshadows his future character development.

Koala Man's speech talks about how he used to be a hitman, got reborn as an ant and got stuck in the same cycle again : having to kill people. His entire speech focuses on how life is a cycle that repeats the same pattern, and that his rebirth put him in the same situations again, but that he wants to change. Something inside him is telling him that he has to break the cycle. That he has to stop repeating the same pattern, stop doing the same mistakes. He has to be different.

Koala Man's speech boils down to him emphasizing that he realized he wasn't reborn to repeat the same mistakes and that he wants to break the pattern. He feels like he has to change.

Right after this speech conveniently enters Gon. Gon, who got reborn too, apologizes to Kite and promises to do things different next time. He promises he'll break the pattern.

I think the most interesting thing is that Koala Man's speech highlights the idea of "repeating the same cycle" and doing things over again, which.... Definitely applies to Gon.

Gon is back on Whale Island, back to the start, back to square one. He has no more nen and Killua left his side. He's literally back to the same spot he was at the beginning of the manga. 

But it's a second chance, a clean start, the occasion to start anew and fix all the wrongs he made. 

And with Koala Man's speech in mind, and the fact that Gon was reborn and is back to literal square one, back to the start of something new, with more journeys yet to come.... It's making me believe that, just like the panel above says, Gon might have to do things all over again, go through the same events again, hit the same milestones again but in a way that will showcase that he's willing to break the pattern and that he's trying to change. Because something is telling him he has to stop repeating the same mistakes.

The fact that Gon is literally back to the same place he was in chapter 1 of the manga really makes me think that the events that will come next will parallel what Gon already went through. In my very, very subjective opinion, I think it will also revolve around the lesson that Gon learned : that he found something more important along the way. That the true meaning of his journey lies in the people he met and the family he found, and that now, he will act in a way that shows he’s learned this valuable lesson.

With that in mind, I feel like there are multiple big milestones surrounding this that Gon might have to go through again, but that will be done differently this time.

• Meeting Killua again, but this time, it's a clean start, they won't repeat the same mistakes of co-dependency, they'll try their best to have a healthy relationship because they learned from their past mistakes.

• Promising to stay together under the night sky, and maybe, this time something will be different, something that will make them both realize that this time they'll do everything to keep that goal in mind. (meteor shower confession?)

• The honeymoon phase paralleling Greed Island, where everything is fine and Killua and Gon's relationship is blossoming and they're both happy together, but maybe this time, they'll truly be happy and there'll be no underlying sense of pressure and self sacrifice.

• The tragic de*th of a loved one, paralleling Chimera Ant Arc and Gon losing Kite. I already wrote a short post about this, but I truly, truly believe that this is the reason Gotoh d*ed. I believe this time, it won't be Gon going through the same thing, but Killua. And I think they'll face it together, in a way that will showcase that they both learned from their past mistakes, and that they're changing and growing, together.

• And finally, a scene paralleling Gon sitting on the World Tree with Ging, but just as Ging emphasized that time that there were things more important laying in Gon's little detours, this scene might be rightened by having Gon sitting on top of the World Tree with the little detours - his found family, rather than the unsatisfying goal he was chasing - Ging.

Having all of Gon's milestones paralleled in a way that reflects his growth would be amazing symbolism, and with Koala Man's speech clearly paralleling Gon's situation, I really, really think that Gon is meant to follow the same journey all over again, but with the intent of changing.

To further comfort me in my belief, there's this amazing meta post that highlights that HxH's story is probably built like a Möbius strip, an infinite loop, and it makes sense considering that the Möbius strip is a big part of the Dark Continent lore. 

That post highlights that basically every main character in the manga is back to where we first saw them : Gon is back on Whale Island, Kurapika & Leorio are on a boat, Killua once again defied his family and ran away with Alluka.... The current arc is also a parallel of the Hunter Exam : a literal battle royale, where people have to fight to de*th to earn a title. 

HxH seems to repeat itself but enter a new cycle, and it would make sense for the future arcs to reflect the past cycle and parallel past situations. And like Koala Man emphasized... A new cycle can be broken. If you have to go through the same events again, it means that you have to change. It means that you have to break the pattern. And I believe this will apply mostly to Gon, but all of the main 4 might go through the same main similar events they already went through. With Koala Man highlighting the idea of hitting rock bottom, being reborn, faced with the same situations and choosing to act differently, why not push the interpretation a little more ?

• Gon has already been reborn, and might be faced with situations where he showcases he's not self destructive anymore.

• Killua has already been reborn too, when he ripped out the needle and walked away from Gon, and he might be faced with a situation where he can showcase he's not self-sacrificing anymore.

• Gon and Killua might have to face the de*th of a loved one together.

• Kurapika still has to hit rock bottom and be reborn, but once he is, he might have to face the Phantom Troupe again (just like in YN arc) and choose to not follow the path of revenge this time and move on in a healthy way.

• Leorio also has yet to hit rock bottom, and he might have to witness the de*th of a loved one, just like when Pietro d*ed. But if Kurapika is literally reborn, he might choose to break the pattern and swear to do whatever it takes to actively keep an eye on him (even though Kurapika wouldn’t look for revenge anymore).

I guess my point is, with HxH's story reflecting a cycle, all the characters back to square one and the current arc reflecting the Hunter Exam - emphasized by the Möbius Strip lore -, and Koala Man's speech emphasizing on doing things over and over again until you choose to change.... I'm deeply convinced that Gon will go through the same milestones, the same parallel situations that will display his will to change, heal and grow. 

I also think this idea can be applied to Kurapika, Leorio and Killua. Them being put through the same cycle but breaking the pattern of repetition would represent how much they've grown and how much they're willing to change. Parallel situations but with slightly different turn of events would be a wonderful way to show how they're healing from trauma. 

Because yes, the cycle is repeating, but they can break it.

(ty to Nix for explaining to me what Koala Man’s speech was about !!!)

[infinites-chaser]

all the lights that lead us there (are blinding)

| mlqc | shaw |

vague spoilers for ch.20+ content

he can't stay still. not really. his mind's always crackling with something some staticky noise that won't ever go— he tries to ignore it, lose himself in his music, his graffiti, his boarding, the play of electricity across his fingers late at night.

It starts like this: he's on the 330 bus at a hellishly early hour, listening to oasis's wonderwall (though he'll never admit it), the volume on his mp3 player turned up as loud as it can possibly go. just him, liam gallagher crooning in his ears, skateboard under his arm, the bass and drums thrumming through his veins like thunder.

correction: it's just him, the quaking wheels of the bus, and the girl who just got on— she's petite, delicate-looking, the kind of person he guesses is into pastels and flowers and gives people like him judgemental stares when they don't think he's looking. but when he stares at her, she stares back and for a second, it almost looks like the world could begin or end in her wide brown eyes. and maybe he wants it to.

(somehow, she seems familiar.)

he looks away first. static crackles around maybe you're gonna be the one who saves me.

and it's stupid but— 

he's on the same bus every day. maybe he looks for her whenever he gets on. maybe he never sees her.

he cycles through the rest of what's the story morning glory. stops listening to oasis. vows to go back to something his bandmates wouldn't laugh at him for.

he's waiting for the bus again, same route, same time, same driver, blasting green day as loud as it'll go.

he closes his eyes. leans his head back against the sun-flecked window, cradles his skateboard close.

the bus rattles, coughs exhaust, then jerks to a stop. the doors woosh open, woosh shut.

footsteps tap light on the linoleum floor, come to a stop close to him. he doesn't move. then static fizzles and pops loud in his ears, billie joe armstrong's voice stutters, jarring, discordant, wrong

he opens his eyes, and it's her.

her and her wide eyes.

the bus jolts, his skateboard slides, and he catches it before too much damage can be done, but she levels that stare at him, bleeding-hearted dreamer's stare, looking like she wants to save the world, bring all the sinners to justice, his skateboard too, and for a moment he forgets himself.

he makes it rain for her.

gives her the umbrella on a whim.

maybe he wants her to save the world,

maybe he wants her she to save him,

he thinks she could. he thinks she will.

she does.

only, she's as self-sacrificing as he's selfish: didn't think you were a saint, he thinks to himself, the world ending, starting anew around him, time loops bending, universes shifting, floating in and out of focus.

he closes his eyes against every universe's, every timeline's final scene: her body limp as a rag doll's, her blood spreading dark and heavy across the war torn warehouse floor.

didn't think you were a hero, either.

the world's wrong, after. he thinks (stupidly, irrationally, immature, caring in a way he hasn't been in a long, long time) that he should've done more— all he's done is give her an umbrella. for rain and a storm he'd caused. it should've been him, at the end of it all.

though in a world where he's certain he's the only one who remembers her, he isn't really sure if she remembers him.

she doesn’t quite. then she does.

didn't think you looked a hero, he says, one late night over STF documents. her hands stiffen around her pen, her eyes narrow, glitter hard and bright to match it.

what do I look like, then, she asks, voice too-soft, too-calm

he falters. they have a balance, normally. he pushes. she pushes back. this time, he knows: he's gone too far.

what do I look like, she repeats, and her voice is still hard, her eyes still glittering, but there's an undercurrent to the ice, something thinning it, making her hardness fragile,

a savior, he says, near instinctively, and pretends not to notice when she nods, looks back down at her pen, and a tear slides down her cheek, splatters dark against the paper's white.

they come together, in fits and starts:

a warning text she ignores.

an insult. then another.

then, slowly, finally. an uneasy partnership.

it starts like this:

he takes her hand, pulls her onto the stage with him. it's hard to tell with the club's flickering lights. but he thinks she's blushing. it's cute. he's not afraid to admit it. he tries to tell her as much, but it's lost between the pounding of the speakers and the roar of the crowd. he settles for another devil-may-care smile.

what's your favorite song?

what?

I said, your favorite song!

you told me you'd tell me information. important information! that's why I came!

your favorite song, he repeats for a third time, even louder. maybe it'd be annoying if it were anyone else, but he'll say it again: she's cute with that pout. 

then, hastily, as her pout deepens:

it's important information! in exchange, you'll learn how good my band is.

she snorts.

play anything, she says, and he finds his fingers straying over the strings of his bass to pluck out the opening notes of wonderwall. he doesn't dare look up to watch her expression 'til the chorus hits.

she sings along.

she looks happy. wistful happy. and maybe her smile's a little sad, and there's a glisten in her eyes when they lift to meet his, but the smile's for him, the way her gaze lingers is proof, and he'll take any smile he can get from her, no matter how sad.

oasis, huh, he says after. I knew it. your taste in music sucks.

she scoffs and reaches a hand up to knuckle his sweaty forehead, hard. he lets her. he'll take this, too.

later, he stretches a hand out, catches a raindrop, surveys it, then shrugs, half to himself. sure, it's cool to roll up to people like yeah I can cause storms (not to mention it's a hell of a handy evol in a fight) but maybe he's being stupid because when he sees her sad smile he wishes his evol could clear the clouds and bring her sunshine back instead.

he does the next best thing: he teases her. and maybe it makes her huff and pout more times than not, but it makes him happier which is really half the battle. and he's sure that behind some of those scoffs are smiles.

between their trading of barbs (always dry, quippy, light, never meant to hurt) she just goes quiet. he doesn't like quiet. he's not used to it, and from the look in her eyes when she gets that way, he can tell she doesn't like it either.

you can talk about it, you know, he says one time, and she freezes, blank stare instantly shifting to a deer-in-headlights look, then annoyance. 

talk about what?

(atta girl, he thinks. sure it's defensive, but nothing scares him more than when she's just— nothing. lifeless. trapped in the past of a time worlds away.)

he scoffs. 

your terrible taste in music? i meant— before

(and they both know what 'before' is without him having to say it aloud, saying it feels like it'd make it all the more real, it'd be wrong)

her eyes are wide again.

before? she says, and he feels it stretching between them, that distance, the void, the reminder that she and him, they don't have a before, only a now, maybe an after.

we need to talk about your taste in music, too, though. urgently, he adds quickly, musters a grin. waits for the scoff, the eye roll to come.

it doesn't. instead, she reaches up to ruffle his hair with a cheeky smile before he can react.

you're a good boy, after all, aren't you, hm?

he scowls. he goes to grab her hand, wind her fingers through his, but realizes what he's about to do seconds before his fingers brush hers— he changes trajectory, attends to his mussed hair. (there's an art to the rebel hairdo. clearly she doesn't know it.)

and he would retort, but she's still looking at him, and her smile's gone all soft, not in a sad way, but in a way that just. does things to his heart,

so when she says 'thank you,' all he can say back is 'you're welcome,' and if he sounds more sincere than he's ever before, she doesn't notice, but he is.

he's not sure when their relationship—  reluctant alliance, friendship, more shifts, but it does, it evolves, it jumps— two steps forward, sparks fly, and they're back in the same place as before. same, he says, as if lightning could ever strike the same spot twice (he knows it does, he's not stupid, not like she is, eyes so bleeding heart wide they could swallow the world in her idealism, her kindness, they could and they will, after all, they've already swallowed him, remade him whole).

his days are filled with her, his nights, too. all the restless hours the clock strikes and neither of them wants to be alone,

bus rides at strange hours and electric eye contact across a crowded club after dark (he's tuning his guitar, about to take the stage, she's sitting alone at the end of the bar, two shots away from drunk) neon lights and drive-throughs before the dawn for hangover fast food, a tired employee's voice crackling through the speaker as he tries to give the order of the whole minivan— most nights it's him and the rest of his band, but once it's just him and her, sunrise after a sleepless night at the top of an empty parking garage, he gives her a can of spray paint and pretends to drive away while she runs after the banged-up van and tries to tag him, the studio and snacks and out-of-character honesty after waking up from nightmares

(it catches him by surprise, even as her brows curve up in surprise, too. the you can stay as long as you want, even though what he means is you can stay forever.)

she's sprawled clumsy across the faded cushions of his couch, halfway to dreamland, when he catches himself reaching to brush the hair from her eyes, thumb tracing tender over the edge of her cheek.

she murmurs something under his touch, soft, indistinct, and his heart's responding murmurs give his voice to a near-unconscious reply,

maybe, he whispers, you're gonna be the one who saves me,

he's about to leave her be when her finger catches round his pinky, holds his hand close,

save me? you already have, she says, 

shut up, he says back, you're drunk.

her eyes blink open, spark bright when they lift to meet his and he's falling, he's already gone, about to make another mistake to add to the many or the one right choice in his life

not drunk, she mutters, and her eyes shutter closed.

he swallows.

I know, he replies. her brow furrows.

he waits a second, a second longer, but her eyes stay closed this time. her breathing evens in the silence. the worry smooths out from between her eyes. she looks peaceful for once,

for once, he could almost imagine her happy. imagine them happy. the thought gives him courage again, to linger at her side. to lean in. to press his lips to the back of her hand.

makes it a promise, an oath sworn by someone who'd never once wanted to be loyal to anyone but himself,

someone who'd decided that there's someone he's willing to follow.

someone he wants to have. to hold.

(all the world's adventures and he wants to be hers.)

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (62) || atz

Yeosang stumbles.

No, he doesn’t trip over his own feet, nor does he fall over something on the deck. His knees simply buckle under the weight of his father’s word, as if they’ve lost all ability to keep him upright, and he actually stumbles, nearly falling to the deck before Wooyoung catches him by the arm and hauls him upright, concern written all over his face.

“What?”

Hongjoong whirls on Kang Yongsun, eyes going dark. “You have exactly five seconds to get off my ship before I open fire on the lot of you scum.”

Something sharp, painful tugs at your chest, and you tug on your captain’s sleeve lightly, his intensity burns. “Captain… you swore not to…”

He bites back a hiss, eyes still never leaving Captain Kang’s face, true to his reputation as an exceptional commander he does not seem to be fazed the slightest by your captain’s threat. Instead, he doesn’t even look at him, eyes fixed only on his son.

“But…” Yeosang stutters, face as white as a paper sheet and mouth working soundlessly as he searches him mind for words. “But… But didn’t Mother run away from home after giving birth to me? Didn’t she-”

“We told you that… but at that time… the family believed that you were the one who caused your mother’s death… after all, she died giving birth to you, and that birthmark under your eye…” Kang Yongsun pauses, voice turning grim. “Well, people believe that birthmarks are signs that you’ve been marked by Fate… that you’re a curse to the family you’re born to.”

Yeosang swallows, fingers tentatively reaching up to touch the dark blemish resting on his cheekbone. His whole life, he’s known what his birthmark means, knows that he should be grateful that he’s even alive when some other members of the aristocratic class would rather kill the child at birth rather than have the public finding out about them having a cursed, blemished child…

“I loved your mother…” Kang Yongsun says softly and Yeosang is broken out of his reverie as he stares at his father, not once in his life has he seen his father so openly and emotionally vulnerable. “I loved her more than anything else in the world, Yeosang. Her health was always bad since the two of us were young, but I insisted on marrying her… and after we got married, she insisted on having a child even though the physicians told her not to…”

Something cracks in Yeosang’s chest. His father, the love was genuine, the love for his mother so real he can feel it himself. For the woman that has never been present his entire life, for the woman who gave birth to him, for the woman who he’s never met.

“Father…” Yeosang begins to say but Commander Kang puts up a hand, some sort of sad smile twitching on his lips. “I will not lie, I believed that you were the reason I lost her. The second you were born, I never even got to hold you in my arms, instead I was holding my wife and your mother as I watched the life leave her eyes… and she asked me, ‘Is the baby alright?’ with her last breath… and I hated you for that, Yeosang.”

“That wasn’t even his fault-” Wooyoung pipes up angrily, stepping forward but you catch his arm and drag him back much to his protest, your eyes are still fixed on the Commander, the pain of his loss shining so strongly in his gaze that it takes your breath away. “Let him finish.” You murmur softly, and while Wooyoung sighs unwillingly he eventually falls silent, still staring at Kang Yongsun with every malicious intent he can muster.

Yeosang, on the other hand, doesn’t move an inch, eyes swimming with indescribable emotion - painful, guilty, lost - because what is he supposed to be feeling? His whole life, he’s known that his father hated him, and while he might have never thought much about the reason why, he’s always assumed that it had been his father’s responsibility; that he had simply seen something in Yeosang he didn’t like. But to find out that he was the one who had been chasing after his father’s back when the entire time, his very birth had been what drove a wedge between them in the first place.

“It wasn’t your fault that your mother died, I know.” Commander Kang says softly, and Yeosang seems like he finds it difficult to lift his head, he can’t meet his father in the eye properly. “But at the time, all I could see was what I had lost. While you might not have chosen to be marked by the Fates, even though I did see you as my flesh and blood to be loved, every time I looked at you, all I could see was the cause of all my pain and suffering.”

Yeosang’s head hangs, tears slipping down his cheeks as he grips the hem of shirt very tightly. “I’m sorry, Father.” He manages and Commander Kang merely shakes his head, eyes softening a fraction as he looks at him. “If you have anything to be sorry for, Yeosang, I have a lot more in comparison.”

Yeosang’s eyes widen, and one of his hands reaches behind him, you take it instinctively and squeeze lightly, so he knows you’re there. The Commander takes a deep breath, looks at the sky for a moment, and continues, a little more slowly this time. “Even if you did cause your mother’s death, even if I had lost her, I had no right to take it out on you.”

“But then if you knew…” Yeosang’s voice cracks, fingers tightening around your hand almost painfully with the weight of his emotions, “then why did you give me up to captain? Didn’t you hate me? Isn’t that why you tried to get rid of me?” At that, Commander Kang’s eyes darken slightly, his brows furrowing.

“For that too… I would like to apologise… while I know nothing can ever make you forgive me for selling you to the pirates,” his eyes meet your captain’s for a split second and Hongjoong nearly growls, “I still stand by what I did. As a captain of a ship, all the members of the crew are my family as much as you were, Yeosang.” You see the two officers who had a little outburst earlier nodding unconsciously along to their captain’s words.

“And if it meant saving my crew, I would have given you up every single time no matter how many times I was faced with the choice.” Kang Yongsun says, it’s so brutally honest it nearly cuts you to the core. And yet, even if some part of you protests that he should have found some way, any way to have saved Yeosang, you too know that the Commander had been faced with no other choice. Kang Yongsun’s eyes meet your captain’s. “I’m sure your captain would understand what I mean.”

“You should have found some way to save him.” Hongjoong snaps suddenly, hand fisting around th hilt of his cutlass so tight his knuckles are nearly bloodless. You’re mildly startled at the volume of his voice, wondering why on earth he seems so emotional about this, it’s not like your captain to be like this. You put your stump gently on his shoulder, hoping that he’ll calm down but he doesn’t. “You should have done something, anything, to save him from me. That’s what a father is supposed to do.”

Commander Kang gives him a sharp glance. “I had no other choice in that situation. The only two options were to give something up of value or have the lives of all my crew lost. The thing of highest value at the moment was Yeosang, and it was the only thing I could think of to save the lives of the rest of my men.” Then his eyes darken. “If I were to force you to give up the woman we’ve been commanded to search for or have the rest of your crew hung, what would your answer be then? Which would you choose to give up?”

You startle at having been so suddenly addressed, but find your eyes drawn towards your captain anyway, anticipating his answer with bated breath. Hongjoong opens his mouth, fully intending to reply sharply, but then he pauses, eyes meeting yours hesitantly.

Would he?

“But then why would you chase the Treasure down once again?” Yeosang asks suddenly and you turn away, distracted, not noticing the pained look on your captain’s face as he stares at you. Commander Kang sighs, casts a glance behind him at where Gunho’s body lies and gives a small, unreadable smile, filled with so much emotion you can’t even begin to describe it. “I wanted to make amends, Yeosang. I thought that if the Pirate King was truly as terrifying as the stories described him to be, and yet he’d still accepted you in return for the lives of my crew, you must have been very valuable to him… and that he would most definitely keep you alive. If I found you, and you were still alive… I wanted to save you and bring you back. I wanted to start things anew, Yeosang.”

Your eyes fly wide open. Start anew? Start anew with Yeosang, as father and son?

“Start things anew?” Yeosang echos your thoughts blankly, as if he can’t quite believe that his father would ever say such a thing. As far fetched as his words sound, nothing raises the alarm that he’s lying, or doesn’t mean what he says. Every word is genuine, from the heart, determined. He genuinely does want to make amends. “You mean… be together? Like father and son? Like… family?”

“Yes.” Commander Kang nods, but now there’s a gentle smile tugging ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth. “Be together, just the two of us, like father and son. If you’ll allow me to.”

Hongjoong’s expression is stony, unreadable, something dark brewing in his eyes as he watches the two of them, Yeosang’s eyes slowly well at with tears at the thought. But then Yeosang pauses, turns back to his captain, and reaches over to tug at Hongjoong’s hand, pulling him forward to stand face to face with the Commander.

“He’s taken care of me.” Yeosang tells his father softly and Commander Kang raises an eyebrow as he stares down at the younger captain with something approaching surprise. “He took care of me like I was his own flesh and blood brother, and he’s saved me more times than I can count. If you’re to be my father again,” Yeosang takes a deep breath and looks at his captain so warmly that Hongjoong’s head dips to avoid his gaze, “then I cannot have you threatening the lives of the family I made on this ship.”

“The famed, notorious Pirate King took care of you?” Commander Kang says with a hint of astonishment and your captain meets his eyes defiantly, as if challenging him to deny the fact. But to his complete surprise and shock, the Commander simply takes a step back and bows - much to the horror of the officers behind him - before he speaks once again. “I thank you for that, Pirate King.”

“I don’t want your thanks.” Hongjoong says darkly, nearly spits at Yeosang’s father, and the Commander simply nods before straightening up. Your captain turns to Yeosang, concern written all over his face as he takes Yeosang’s hands in his. “Yeosang, what is it you want to do? If… If you would want to return with… that man…” his expression sours at the word, but he continues speaking, “I will not stop you. It is your choice to make.”

Yeosang pauses for a moment, eyes sweeping across the deck as he looks at the face of every crew member, imagining saying goodbye to each of them. His gaze rests on you and you give him a slight smile, as long as he’s happy, you’ll support any choice he makes, even though you’re reluctant to see him go.

But then Yeosang shakes his head. Commander Kang and your captain both wear surprised expressions, although while Commander Kang’s melts into understanding, your captain’s darkens into something unfathomable. “This is my family. I promised to live and die with them, and so I will. I’m afraid you’ll have to go on without me, father, at least until the day Captain decides to retire.” He gestures at the crew mates around him and Commander Kang smiles a bit brighter this time, a little more nostalgic. “You’re really my son… I understand.” He sighs, and steps forward to place one hand on Yeosang’s shoulder, and this time Yeosang meets his gaze with clear eyes, no longer clouded by doubt or pain. “The day your captain retires… Don’t forget, that you will always have a home in me on Nassau.”

The moment is so intimate that the rest of the crew turn their faces away, as do the officers behind the Commander. You find yourself looking away as well at the expanse of sea behind you, watching the sea barely shift from ink to deep blue, the sun must be rising soon.

“I know.” Yeosang says, happily and so radiant you can barely look at him, his eyes are fixed on his father’s back but not chasing after it any longer. Commander Kang steps back, before he turns and bows one last time to your captain, who still refuses to look at him.

“I thank you as well, Pirate King. If you were to ever change your mind about the deal, come to Nassau. I promise that I’ll see all of your men cleared of all charges.” He says, but your captain simply nods expressionlessly, before gesturing carelessly to the gangplank with one hand.

“Get off my ship.”

“Let’s go.” Commander Kang orders his men and they spring to move immediately, marching down the gangplank and vanishing into the vegetation of the island, Commander Kang’s eyes meet his son’s one last time and Yeosang waves in farewell. Then they’re gone from sight, the only imprints left of their presence the footsteps left in the beach sand and the smell of smoke in the air.

There’s a long silence.

“So…” Yeosang is the first to break it, before he glances up at his captain. “That’s that.”

“That’s it.” His captain echoes blankly, not really looking at Yeosang but at where the Commander had been standing, hands still clenched tight, expression unreadable. Worried, you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but before you can, your master bursts out of the infirmary with a grin large enough to split his face in half.

“Yunho’s fever has broken!”

And when the deck erupts in massive cheers and squabbles as they quarrel over who is going to get to visit the lovable battlemaster first, you think that the worst might finally be behind you.

>>>

It’s late at night when you step over the unconscious forms of your crewmates sprawled across the deck. Some are still clutching on to tankards of brandy in their sleep, Seonghwa had decided that to celebrate Yunho’s recovery and Yeosang’s reunion with his father, they would break open a keg of some of the most expensive alcohol they had on board. And as usual, they have gotten drunk, and as usual, they have been up to their antics, but, not as usual, you find yourself afraid to head back to your bed in the infirmary even after most of the crew have passed out drunk, knowing your master would be there…

You find yourself ascending the stairs to the quarterdeck, a blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders, meaning to find some comfort in the solitude. Instead, you find your captain leaning against the railing, a bottle of red wine in hand, looking out at the expanse of sea before you, barely lit by the slightest hint of moonlight peeking out from behind the clouds in the night sky. He’s not drunk, at least you don’t think so, so you step up next to him and rest your forearms on the railing, looking out across the sea like he is.

“Not in the mood for celebration, captain?”

“So it was me.” Your captain murmurs quietly under his breath and you turn to look at him in surprise, usually he’d greet you or acknowledge your presence directly, you hope it’s because he’s comfortable enough around you to speak his mind freely. “In a way, when I thought I saved Yeosang…” he barks out a laugh, broken and exhausted and your heart clenches painfully for him, “I was the thing that separated him and his father.”

You turn to look at your captain more carefully. His expression is blank, like white canvas, but there’s something painfully lonely in his eyes, as if no one can understand what he’s going through. You’re suddenly seized by an overwhelming compulsion to take that off his face, to replace the darkness in his eyes with the fire you love so much. “You also saved him, though.” You say quietly, and Hongjoong takes another swig of the wine, still watching the sea. “The Commander might not have realised his mistake if you hadn’t taken Yeosang from him. In the end, things have worked out, haven’t they?”

Your captain smiles, a bitter, melancholy smile that has your heart aching as he takes another swig, as if it can dull the pain in his eyes. “I thought I had put my own father behind me.” He suddenly says, and you start, remembering the expression he had worn when the Commander had told Yeosang that he wanted to start things afresh. “But after today, a part of me just…” His words trail off, filled with such bitter longing you know exactly what he wants to say even though he doesn’t. And you understand now, why exactly he had felt so much today.

Just wishes that could have been my father instead.

“I hate it. I don’t want to think about him anymore, and yet…” he tosses the bottle into the ocean and takes a deep painful breath, fingers tight around the railing, “and yet I wonder… if there was a reason my father hated me as well? If there was something, anything that could explain why… why my father would do this to me? ” His fingers trace the stitching of his eyepatch before they fall back to the side, limp.

You don’t know what to say, silent and wondering yourself. So you simply stretch out your arm and he gently wraps his fingers around what’s left of your left wrist silently, before he turns back to watch the sea, a lonely, silent melody playing in your ears as you watch him; as if the sirens are calling to you once again.

His smile is sad.

“If only Yeosang’s father had been an easier man to hate.”

[minijenn]

Keys to the Kingdom Preview

HERE YA GO NERDS FUCKIN JOIN IN MY SUFFERING 

***

“Xehanort is taking over Sora’s heart!” Ventus shouts, his voice hitching into a sob as this horrendous fact finally, finally forces itself out. Suddenly, all eyes are on him again, shocked expressions across the board as the others all try to make sense of what they just heard. Yet even amidst their shock, Ventus continues, unable to stop himself now, knowing that he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Not after all this time of having to harbor and hide this. “H-he’s trying to turn Sora into his lest vessel,” he explains morosely, tears streaming down his cheeks all the while. “He’s been filling his heart with darkness for months now. When I was inside of it, I-I… I tried my best to fight him off, we all did, but… it wasn’t enough. Sora’s still… h-he’s being…” Ventus shudders, unsure of even what to say next. Because really, what can be said about a situation that’s so utterly unspeakable?

It ripples through the other lights like a shockwave, the terrible truth far too few of them knew about until this very moment. The study is far more still and silent than it's ever been before, with even the usually calm and collected Yen Sid seems completely bewildered by what’s just been said. Along the far wall, Axel swiftly stands upright, no longer leaning as he’d been before. Aqua draws in a sharp breath she nearly forgets to let out, Terra taking her hand to steady her when he sees her sway ever so slightly. Donald and Goofy fall into the same sort of regretful resignation Ventus has already adopted, while Mickey desperately tries searching for something, anything to say and ultimately finding nothing. 

But the ones who are struck the hardest by this heartbreaking revelation are, of course, Riku and Kairi. Ventus’ first sentence alone had been enough to spark starting tears in Kairi’s eyes, but everything else he says is what ultimately makes them fall. She grips Riku’s arm like a vice, practically leaning against him for support as she chokes out a tight, terrified sob. Yet for his part, Riku doesn’t move, doesn’t even look over at her as he instead stares straight at the marble ground before him, his eyes wide, yet his expression unreadable. Kairi is the first to break the longstanding silence by tensely whispering his name, but he doesn’t respond. He can’t respond; all he can do is stand there, frozen in fear and grief and anger, and hope that it isn’t true; it can’t be true, it can’t be, it can’t-

“That… no, that isn’t possible!” Mickey finally speaks up, nearly echoing Riku’s thoughts exactly. “We saved Sora from-”

“It didn’t work!” Donald cries, shaking his head. 

“The Organization kept telling us, even as far back as when we started lookin’ for the Keys, that Sora was turning into one of them,” Goofy details anxiously. “But we didn’t believe them.”

“We should have,” Donald huffs, frustrated with just how long it had taken them to realize something was wrong. Because if they had caught onto the problem sooner, than maybe, just maybe, Sora would still be standing here with them now. “There was plenty of evidence, between the X-shaped scar they gave him, and the cracks on his Keyblade, and those new dark powers he started using…” The magician pauses at this, both him and Goofy rubbing the still-sore spots on their arms where Sora’s accidental magic had struck them back in Twilight Town. While they’d mostly healed up from that ordeal physically, the emotional sting of it, or rather, from when Sora had tearfully run from them seconds after, still lingers all the same. 

“But we didn’t find out until we saw his hair starting to turn white and his eyes turning yellow,” Goofy glumly reports. “He begged us not to tell any of you--like we said, we wanted to, but… he was so sad and scared, so…”

“So we kept quiet and I cast a glamour spell on him to hide what was happening to his body,” Donald admits, ashamed that they’d even done that much. Because in condoning Sora’s stubborn secrecy, in going to such great lengths to help him keep that secret, they’ve done so much more to hurt him than to help him like they wanted to. And of course, they’re only realizing that now, when it's far too late. “We shouldn’t have listened to him; we should have just forced him to come back here and tell all of you!”

“But we didn’t…” Goofy sighs guiltily. “And we’re so sorry, both to all of you… and to Sora most of all…”

While most of the others have no idea what to even say at this juncture, Mickey is the one to speak up again, his tone and expression mutually disappointed as he looks to his two longtime friends. “Wow, this is… a lot to take in…” he begins, just as overwhelmed as all of the others are. “I really wish you fellas had said something sooner.”

“Yeah, I think we’re all wishing that,” Axel says incredulously. “What I can’t believe is that you three all stayed tight-lipped on this whole thing for so long! I would have thought that Sora at least would have let something slip, even by accident.”

“H-he was scared of what would happen if any of you found out,” Ventus mutters, rubbing his arm as he glances away from the group. “That’s why he asked me to not tell anyone either. I thought he’d come clean on his own sooner or later but…” He sighs, finally realizing that had been too much to hope for. After all, Sora had managed to keep this all so well-hidden even well before he’d even awakened. Why had Ventus ever been foolish enough to think that would stop once he came along? Why had he ever thought that he even had a chance at changing Sora’s mind when it had already been made up from the moment this all began?

“Ven…” Aqua says, her tone torn between stern and sorrowful. “You knew, from the minute you woke up, that this was happening to Sora… and you didn’t once think to tell any of us? Not even me?”

“Aqua, no, I just… Sora asked me to-”

“You should have known better!” Aqua scolds. Her blue eyes blaze with a kind of intense ferocity that Ventus has rarely ever seen, ferocity he’s almost never seen directed at him. “Both of you should have known better! Your heart was inside of his, that means you must have known how serious this was! If you tried to help him from the inside before, then why didn’t you do anything to help him once you were out!? Why didn’t you tell us, Ventus!?”

He flinches, as if physically struck, by the sudden sharpness of her seldom use of his full name. He opens his mouth, only to immediately close it again, any words he might have said, even the apology he wants to offer her and everyone else here, falling short. Aqua’s severity doesn’t even soften when she sees Ventus’ tears begin to fall anew, nor does she turn calm when she feels Terra’s comforting hand find a place upon her shoulder. 

“Aqua,” he says, his earnest, steady tone finally diverting her attention away from Ven. “I-”

Before he can get another word out, she suddenly falls apart on him, cutting him off as she throws her arms around him, burying her face into his chest as her shoulders shudder with starting sobs. “We just got you back…” she mutters so quietly only he can really hear her. “I-I can’t imagine losing anyone else I care about to him… not again…”

[fymagnificentwomcn]

Do you think that if Hatice hadn't ended up marrying Ibrahim she maybe could have been a little happier? Or at least lived longer? I always felt that her "love" for him was much more a kind of obsession than actual love and in the end being granted permission from Suleyman to be with him ended up being bad for her mental health since before their wedding she wasn't as anxious, paranoid, arrogant and jealous as she later became. Maybe if she married someone else she may not have fallen in love with them, but maybe she would have been a better mother to her children?

I honestly don’t think so. Of course a marriage of two traumatised people IS always a risky thing because obviously double dose of trauma and emotional problems is worse than when we have only one person with issues in a marriage, but loveless marriage would have destroyed Hatice much sooner, and actually it wasn’t the marriage that was the destruction of Hatice. Yes, it brought her a lot of pain with his betrayal, but ultimately it was one aspect of pain in her life that ultimately did get resolved, unlike others, which intensified.

Hatice is a clearly damaged person already at the beginning of the story. She’s a very sensitive soul that would always be troubled in this system. In her young age, she already had to witness the reign of her bloody father and was forced to marry an elderly man that died soon after the marriage. Even Süleyman is traumatised after dealings with his father and when he witnessed Selim’s brutal rise to power that involved eradicating all males in the family except Süleyman himself. Hatice feels trapped in the palace and feels suffocated in it.

While Ibrahim is made of sterner stuff, as we may say, and also does enjoy rising in the ranks in Ottoman palace, we know he also feels trapped and suffocated here, and that never truly adapted to Ottoman reality. While not so much sensitive person who abhors power games, he nevertheless also feels out of place here, also because he always feels more connected with Western culture. They are both outsiders actually. And this is what ultimately binds them together .Hatice, unlike say an ambitious princess like Sah, does not want power – she only wants to live peacefully with her children and man she loves. In this system of constant struggle, sometimes almost Darwinian (the whole open succession hello) to be on top, she might feel an outsider for that. Hatice in S1 IS also a naïve, sheltered idealist. She has her dreams of ideal future.

After (amost miraculous) acceptance of her marriage to Ibrahim, she seems to have it all, especially when she gets pregnant. But then everything is shattered when she miscarries and this is the event that begins her emotional descent arc.

However, she did have mental issues before that. She tried to kill herself when she was supposed to marry the man of Hafsa’s choosing. She didn’t want to feel trapped even more by again people deciding her fate thanks to all soulless, pragmatic, harsh rules.

Hatice was a depressed, anxious person from the very start of the series ,and she could also be short-tempered and impatient from very beginning.

And her being forced to marry someone else or not marry anyone would have likely made her to what Gevherhan did in MYK- decide to take her fate into her own hands FOR ONCE.

Maybe Ibrahim wasn’t a perfect choice due to his own emotional baggage that later made him commit stupid things, but he was still a good choice because she loved him, he loved her and he did understand her and also tried to be a source of support even though all their issues also caused him to be similarly a source of pain to her.

However, not matter how much Hatice and Ibrahim tried, the power struggle in the palace affected them because neither of them - she as member of dynasty and him as important official -  could ever be free from it. Ibrahim and Hürrem’s rivalry that intensified from S2 onwards affected it – we might say that neither Hürrem nor Ibrahim wanted to purposefully hurt Hatice, but she got caught in crossfire nevertheless. Obviously, marriage to Hatice meant a lot for Ibrahim’s career in the palace and making it fall apart was the easiest way for Hürrem to remove Ibrahim. We discussed it a bit here.

Similarly, fate also threw difficult things on them – first the miscarriage, then the death of the baby the cause of which was never determined (whether the poison or simple Sudden Infant Death Syndrome), but Hatice blames herself and thinks herself to be a killer of her child. Even once Ibrahim begins suspecting Hürrem because he figures out there was poison on his notebook that later could be carried to a child, who didn’t have such a strong organism as his father, he never shares this with Hatice not to re-open old wounds. Then Suleyman’s heart attack and her mother’s illness, all the intensification of power struggles that re-merged with Hatice trusting Hürrem again and then being disappointed again when Hürrem used sick Valide to frame Mahi while at the same sitting with Hatice and wishing her mum a speedy recovery (and Hatice did scold Mahi at first believing it was her), also some of earlier Mahi’s behaviour too… the turn of S2/S3 is very traumatising for Hatice. Death of her mother, followed by Ibrahim’s infidelity revelation together with manner of Hürrem revealing it that left Hatice in no doubt it was done to remove Ibrahim and that Hürrem was thus glad about his cheating (and again knowing that it is what Hürrem has dreamt of for long), so the final nail to their friendship’s coffin, it all caused a huge blow.Ultimately, the problem that does get solved in the end is the marital problem. Ibrahim ultimately does wake up even before he learns Nigar is pregnant (what Nigar anticipated actually) because in the end he DOES love his wife. He knows how much he hurt Hatice and is ready to face the consequences.. When Matrakçi said Hatice loves him a lot and would eventually forgive him, while Hürrem would surely use her opportunity and tell Süleyman: Ibrahim said: “What does it matter if I lose everything or not? I’ve once renounced ranks for Hatice. Nothing is worthy next to her. The only thing that worries me is Hatice, her broken heart. When she looked at me, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole”.

Again it’s Hatice’s choice to forgive him and neither Hürrem nor anyone should mock her for it. And unlike Süleyman, who constantly promises Hürrem to be faithful, and then goes enjoying making her jealous, Ibrahim does not intend to hurt Hatice ever again and I believe he wouldn’t  have even if he had lived much longer.

And then we see them at their best, most mature, most healthy relationship now they’ve dealt with their issues and decided to start anew no matter what. I think part of Hatice’s anxiety was being centered around her ideal, dream life and once cracks appeared (first crack was again the miscarriage), the issues began popping up, and she felt like world was slipping from her fingers. It is a psychological phenomenon, when sometimes big storm cleanses you because you give up on perfection, while a small crack can drive you crazy and be a nagging trigger.

Same with Ibrahim, who as Hatice’s husband and more and more successful vizier, began seeing that no matter his talents and achievements he’s still considered inferior to members of dynasty (including Süleyman ranting at beginning of S2 to Hürrem how nobody, including Ibrahim, is equal to him in Ibrahim’s earview). Hatice’s remark about him being servant (she obviously does not see him as that) would be perhaps part of normal marital quarrel otherwise, something thrown in anger, but for him it was a trigger. His relationship with Nigar was an escape from it all – unlike his relationships with Hatice and Süleymann, the dynastic aspect was gone, he was actually with someone inferior and doing something foribidden for damads. He himself believed in that fantasy world he created with Nigar and even remarked to his brother he would like to run away with the woman he loved (aka Nigar) back to Parga, but it was all an illusion. He did TRULY LOVE Hatice, NOT Nigar, but he could not get over at that moment with how much she stood for and was part of the system he abhorred (same with Süleyman). He loves both Hatice and Suly a lot, but at the same time he hates the system they stand for and this conflict drives him a lot in S2 . When he says why Esmanur is his favourite child he remarks that while he loves his children with Hatice, Esmanur is so precious to him because she’s not part of any dynasty he’s subservient to. At the same time he has his crisis with Hatice, he goes through several crises in this aspect with Süleyman too (and again, both conflcts are played at roughly the same time).  All things that would later doom him happened in S2 (things that he was guilty of, not simply blamed for something he didn’t do), he’s far more relaxed and certain of himself and his place in S3 before his death.

And after all problems were dealt with, Hatice’s paranoia concerning Ibrahim’s potential infidelity was healed once and for all. Even when Hürrem tries to scheme again and arranges Ibrahim to meet Nigar by accident in the Marble Pavillon, Hatice does not even intend to check because she trusts him 100% now. They were truly a happy family before Ibrahim’s death.

What destroyed once and for all was Ibrahim’s death and afterwards because it wasn’t just death of a spouse – following this event she effectively lost also another person very close to her – her brother. Of course after such horrible death when her husband’s body was dumped in unnamed grave in the forest and she can’t even go there (I suppose Matrakçi didn’t want to take her there because he was afraid seeing this could only make her despair more) as a result of brutal power games in the palace after which nobody was safe, a sensitive person lost it. Especially since she lost three people to whom she was closest most of out of her family in very close succession – her mother, her husband and her brother. And she had to live under one roof with people responsible for her husband’s death. Mahidevran and Mustafa also were gone to Manisa. She had Sah, who despite all loved her and wanted to help her, but it was of course a difficult relationship, also with some unresolved things. And instead of truly being there for his sister, Süleyman repeatedly made her even harder to heal by removing all traces of Ibrahim and trying to erase him, allowing Hürrem to hold a party in harem during mourning period, marrying her off against her will, ordering her to leave her palace, dismissing her as crazy and not trusting her at all (or again perhaps that’s what he wanted to believe) when Hürrem beat her up, etc. He never tried to understand her or truly talk to her, all he did was a series of actions that claimed were to make her heal, but were in fact cold orders that often were to made him feel better than actually help Hatice (but he could fool himself he is trying to help of course).

Then of course all injustices that befell Mustafa and his and Mahidevran’s despair, feeling that indeed Mustafa would be next and he would face Ibrahim’s fate made her decide for last desperate step.

And it’s again telling when Hatice comes to Süleyman following Hürrem’s disappearance – she says she finally has her brother again because now they experience the same and he finally understands her. For a short while, she looked happier because she finally had her brother back.Then again when she had her suicide speech he was again all about WHERE’S HURREM instead of even trying to listen to his sister’s words.

I think she was okay mother before Ibrahim’s death and later she was non-functional due to depression and since she could never consult a therapist or even leave this place forever (then she would be alone forever anyway), it could only lead to tragedy.

Hatice is precisely a tragic character, a sensitive soul which the palace life totally destroyed and all she wanted was to be happy with her family. She was a princess yet she could never be free or feel safe. Marrying for love was the only time she truly got what she wanted out of life and without it she would not only have even that. I think that even if she married someone she doesn’t love, so she would not be scared of losing them/would not suffer that much because of their loss would not make her be happier. She could even look at her sister, Beyhan, who didn’t marry for love and whose husband was executed for serious stuff, but yet she lost her brother forever and underwent serious trauma. Gevherhan in MYK also didn’t marry Topal out of love, but she nevertheless decided to create a happy family with him and tried to cherish what she had, but still she was humiliated by her brother, who again executed her (traitor)husband for a show after finally having paid attention to his neglected sister a day before, and her son was left without a father, their whole life uprooted. No matter who she married, Hatice could never be free of betrayal, death and power schemes, so at least she got some true love.

I think that it’s better to have something in your life even if loss than is more painful than if we don’t care about it than live more “secure”, especially since in Hatice’s case she could never have a peaceful life by the mere fact she belonged to the Ottoman dynasty and all its upheavals and conflicts had to somewhat always affect her.

And when it comes to betrayal, it was Süleyman’s, not Ibrahim’s, betrayal that Hatice could never recover and heal from.

- Joanna (also thanks to my friend and biggest Hatice fan & expert @queen-deter , who discussed this question with me 🥰)

[lizacstuff]

Edser / SCK asks Ep 30 and 31 Fragman

Asks below the cut. 

Anonymous said: Thoughts on the second trailer for epi 31

My thoughts on the fragman are complicated. Here’s the thing, this show is my happy place and I want my-- and everyone else who reads what I have to say-- experience to be positive. 

So I’m going to say this once and then not dwell. (This means don’t send me a bunch of negative, venting asks, I won’t answer them) I don’t like the direction they’ve taken. I was fine with amnesia, I was great with him falling in love with her from scratch, and I was a-okay with it happening very slowly, even with lots of obstacles and pain. However, involving Selin, and some rando dude who is apparently secretly in love with Eda for years, at such a heightened level... is making it very difficult to enjoy. What they’ve had to do to numerous characters to make the Selin thing make sense is ridiculous. It’s maddening to watch her manipulate and brainwash a man with a traumatic brain injury and NO ONE recognizes it as such. It’s hard to watch such a brilliant man not be able to see through her even a little. It’s hard to enjoy anything with that going on in the background.  

So with that being said, watching the last two episodes felt a little like getting kicked in the face with a Selin shaped foot. Frankly, this fragman made me feel like we’re going to get kicked in the face a third time. While the spoilers say something is coming for her, there is really no hint in the fragmans that she’s going to get comeuppance in this episode, or even start to. (Poor Bige, good thing she’s not a Hollywood actress because I’m not sure I would ever be willing to watch her in anything again, my reaction to her as Selin is now that visceral). 

HOWEVER, the only reason I watch this show is for Serkan and Eda and to watch Hande and Kerem bring their magic together. That’s it, that’s my happy place. So while the last two episodes were hard to watch-- with the undercurrent of Selin’s crazy behavior not being recognized as such-- both episodes offered up some really great scenes of them together (though it needs to be more, much more) and that’s what I’m going to focus on. So on the BRIGHT side I do think we’re going to get some amazing and even romantic moments between Eda and Serkan in 31. 

It seems certain that the scenes on the boat when they’re alone will give us some really nice moments. The fragman makes it look very fraught and emotional, but hopefully the scenes are long and they get a chance to really talk and connect and there are lighter moments.  We know from the live, that they shot at Eda’s house, and it looks from the fragman there is a scene with them outside. That should be reminiscent of many scenes of old when he would pick her up or drop her off, and I’m hopeful they will do that justice. Then of course jealous Serkan sniffing around Deniz’s cafe will hopefully lighten things up around this joint. 

So... I’m gonna be excited for any and all scenes with Eda and Serkan that don’t also have the human praying mantis along for the ride, and for the rest... I guess I better place an order at the liquor store and stock up on human brain bleach (what do we think? Everclear?) until we can get rid of the barnacle on the ass of this show. 

Anonymous said: Do you want eda to end up with the flower ring or do you think she should get a new one? I’ve been thinking about this ever since the last engagement and now that she’s taken it off again, I’m like hmm, should they just start anew? I would of course want her engagement ring to have meaning but I wonder if they might be able to come up with something else.

We are on the EXACT same wavelength. Simpatico, my friend.  I thought the same thing when Eda asked him to marry her. Like.... hmmm... maybe this ring has the wrong kind of history to start your life together with? And look CURSED!  

So now I really think it might be best to go with a new one. Surely they can come up with something that has meaning and is not just some giant solitaire diamond, but also symbolizes a new and fresh start.  Maybe that’s what the necklace is about, retiring that ring, but still keeping it as a keepsake of how they met and fell in love?

Anonymous said: Having Serkan turn Eda’s engagement ring into a necklace that he gives her on the yacht is an interesting way for the show to go. On the one hand it means he is thinking about her and feels bad/starting to fall for her but on the other hand kind of rude too. I do not see her accepting it to be honest. She gave it back because he got engaged to Selin and they are still engaged. Seems like this next episode will be full of interesting surprises like that.

Yeah, I’m not sure what she will do. I could see it going either way to be honest.  Either she wants to hold onto it because of all it’s meant to them, or she tells him she doesn’t want that reminder of him. 

I do hope you’re right that the episode will have some more surprises... let me amend that... I hope you’re right and the episode will have some more GOOD surprises. I need Serkan to realize that the pull he feels towards Eda, regardless if he’s still hella confused and isn’t ready for anything, is reason enough to rethink his engagement to Selin. Or hell I’ll even take Serkan starting to be suspicious, or starting to see through her act. Throw us a bone, show!  This 1 step forward, 2 steps back thing they’ve started is not a recipe for success. 

Anonymous said: Am I the only one hoping that Eda says no thanks to that necklace from Serkan? I guess we are supposed to think it is sweet but it came off more like “yeah I am not giving it back to you as an engagement ring but don’t want you to lose the memories.” I need her saying “that ring meant a lot to me because the man I loved gave it to me but you are marrying someone else/do not remember me and that ring means nothing now”. Not here for the show having Eda getting excited over the scraps given to her while Serkan continues with his engagement.

If they actually had her say those words to him I would cheer.  If Eda can step around her pride and be that nakedly honest with him, it would be a very good thing indeed. 

Switching gears to last episode:

Anonymous said: i totally agree with your thoughts on ceren and eda.. like i hope they don't ruin their friendship (and i dont think they will, i think this will just be a tough period in their friendship) but at the same time, i don't really care either??? ceren and eda have butted heads before over her and ferit's relationship and honestly while her friends are great support for her, they are allowed to show conflict there as well without everyone yelling about "ruining the character"

Yes, this. It’s okay for friends to have conflicts. It also doesn’t mean all “girl power” is gone if they do have conflicts.  I’m just sad that it’s happening at a time when Eda needs friends and Fifi already left. 

And like you say, I don’t care that much. I’m here for Eda and Serkan... oh and Serkan and Eda, and that’s it (oh and Sirius, he can stay). So I’m not really invested in any other relationship, friendships or dynamics. 

Anonymous said:  I laughed at how they actually had Selin put the ring on her own finger. and I don’t think it even crossed her mind that he should’ve done it, she was too desperate to get it on! As much as I hated this “engagement”, the writers are clearly showing that he’s not very interested so I’m fine with it 😂 I was also waiting to see if they were going to spend the night together in the cabin, but then Selin came in with her suitcase and they left early? Lol

BWAH, I loved that they left early! Writers have gone out of their way to show us they don’t spend the night together. THANK YOU SHOW. One small thing they’ve done right. And to your point they’ve also gone out of their way to show how uninterested Serkan is in all of it. Unlike Selin, we’ve all seen how Serkan Bolat behaves when he’s in love and getting engaged and getting ready to be married. The difference could not be more stark. Too bad that the only two characters who don’t know how he behaves when he’s in love are Serkan and the ass barnacle.

Anonymous said: Ngl I want gag a little with Serkan giving Selin more breadcrumbs (key word lol) than before. But 1 of many things I enjoy is that Serkan has yet to try to buy Eda's shares. He expressed interest in doing so when Selin then Efe had those shares. He did suggest her moving into her grandma's old office but gave up quickly. So Serkan's cool with a stranger, who's possibly inexperienced and supposedly manipulative, being a partner in his company and taking up residence in his office? Hmmm

I loved that we got such a quick change from Robot Bolat’s you-won’t-own-these-shares-for-long attitude to you-can’t-go-on-vacation-you’re-needed-here attitude!  One of the best subtle moments from the last episode. I want more of them interacting professionally and him seeing her in action. I also want her to tell him how much she learned from him. I think that might be something he’d be interested to know. 

Speaking of, you know what I want? With his hand tremor, I hope we get a scene where he’s trying to draw something and it’s not coming out like he wants and he’s getting frustrated and she goes over there and puts her hand over his (like he’s done for her so many times) and helps him get the drawing done. 

Anonymous said: Eda was really ready to move on and forget serkan just in 2 days? He came back and lost his memory it wasn't his fault anyway but I understand that the situation with selin must be difficult for her. I just want Eda to keep fighting for him despite what he may say or do (his decisions and actions are influenced by selin so...) I don't want her to lose hope just when he is just starting to open up to her. In my opinion eda should give serkan some time.

Well... I think putting on that frilly yellow dress and forcing him into a corner with her “engagement” has nothing to do with moving on or forgetting him. That was all for him. That’s her way of fighting for him. She knows what it takes to get him to act. He needs to be in a corner and about to lose her. .  

But also I take your point. I hope that Eda’s natural pride and very understandable hurt doesn’t get in the way as Serkan starts to open up to her and gravitate to her and make moves in her direction. 

As for her talk of moving on last episode, it was premature, but Eda has said similar things many times before, her pride talking, but she never means it. She always fights for him. 

Anonymous said: There's a moment in the episode Serkan tells Engin that he love seline and that really pissed me off, because we've never heard Serkan say that before. He only lost one year of his memory and we already knew that he never loved selin so I wonder why he would say that now?

I’ve actually already answer an ask about this, but since then, I saw on twitter that some Turkish speakers confirmed that Serkan used the past tense. “I remember the woman I used to love, and that woman is Selin.”

But also, what I said right after the episode still holds. Serkan Bolat didn’t even know what love was until he met Eda Yildiz. He didn’t really believe in it, no matter what justifications he’s using now. When Serkan and Selin were together, Serkan probably though that boring milquetoast arrangement was what people meant when they talked about love. It wasn’t until he met Eda that he realized he’d never been in love.  

I predict he’s going to have the same realization one more time in the not so distant future.

Anonymous said: I am so glad you aren’t liking Deniz either! I thought I was the only one. I can’t really pin point what it is about him but there is something off. He is definitely an opportunist and is pushing Eda too hard to forget Serkan. Which totally pisses me off. Move over dude, Serkan is and always will be the love of her life. Their friends truly suck. Melo is the only smart one and good friend who is telling Eda to fight for their love. I’ll give Ferit some credit too as he is throwing some digs in at Selin as well. Everyone else is cancelled in my eyes. Do you think that maybe Selin knows Deniz and could be working with him against Serkan? I am not entirely sure but I feel like there is something more there based on the looks they shared when they met as if they knew each other before.

Oh interesting! I don’t know how that could have been arranged from the start, so I don’t think they know each other from before, but at this point I’m not putting anything past either to start working together to keep Edser apart. 

And yes, Melo is really the only non-Edser character I don’t want to slap upside the head. Ferit is better that most, but could still try harder. Oh Seyfi. He hasn’t given me reason to want to slap him upside the head either. 

As for Deniz, I’m already done with him. 

Anonymous said: Near the beginning of the series, I do remember seeing some people shipping Ferit and Melo when she started working for Selin. 😂They haven't really interacted much since but I'm also down

Let’s do this thing. What is their ship name?  Felo? Merit? Cuties?

[yzkhr]

There are times when he just wanted to stop.

Stop with the pretentions, the deceits, the lies, the trying, and just... give up.

Because frankly speaking, it was easier to just be a three foot tall little boy who solves crimes than a highschool student(who still solves crimes). It was nicer to just find people who had the same interests as him even if they were just a bunch of elementary students. It was more relaxing to just let his guard down once in a while. It was pleasant knowing he didn't have to show masculinity nor protect his pride from even the littlest of things.

Besides, it's not like Kudo Shinichi had something Edogawa Conan couldn't have as he grows older. He'll still have the same looks, the same intellect, the same experiences, and the same memories.

He can still go and defeat the Black Organization, even without his seventeen year old body. In fact, being a child was an enormous advantage. Not only for defeating the B.O, but just for being a detective in general.

As a child, suspects tend to let their guard down and show their true colors, but as a teenager, they have their guard up almost all the time. As a child, you can fit through small cracks and vents that a teenage body can never dream of. As a child, you'll be able to notice even the most unnecessary things that can be useful in a case that as a teenager would be too tedious to care.

Kudo Shinichi didn't have the worst childhood but Edogawa Conan sure is having a better one—with the exception of more dead bodies and constant chasing of the organization— than he could ever have had. As Edogawa Conan, he had more knowledge about necessary things. As Edogawa Conan, he didn't have to fail to learn, because he already did as Kudo Shinichi. As Edogawa Conan, he can gain more experiences than he ever did as Kudo Shinichi. As Edogawa Conan, he's just far better as a person compared to Kudo Shinichi.

Not only that, but he met people that became an integral part of his life. He met the detective boys, he was introduced with Miyano Shiho, he got a best friend in a form of an Osakan detective and bonus with his childhood bestfriend Tooyama Kazuha, he became associated with the police even more, specially the people from the first division, and he even got to interact with the FBI and go as far as to work with them.

If it was Kudo Shinichi they met, everything would be different. The detective boys wouldn't feel as close as they are to him as Conan, he would have never met Shiho, his friendship with Hattori wouldn't be this meaningful alongside his relationship with Kazuha, the first division would see him more as an obnoxious guy playing adult than a genius kid, and he would never even have talked with the FBI, much less cooperate with them.

Aside from that, there are also people that are already part of his life as Kudo Shinichi that have gotten a lot more closer as a false elementary student. He got to feel his parents care and love for him again, maybe even more compared back then. He got to be closer with professor Agasa, with his new inventions and test runs. Heck, he's even managed to make his relationship with Sonoko more tolerable(he hates to admit but he is fond of the Suzuki Heiress, just in a weird way).

Only one push of a button and he's done. Only one call to his parents and he can leave. Just one announcement of Kudo Shinichi's 'death', then Edogawa Conan will finally be free.

Free from the burden of lying. Free of pretention. Free to start anew. After all, he was given a second life—ironically ruining his first one—, so why not take the opportunity to start over? To make the wrong things right? To experience new and exciting stuff?

Everyday he thought of that. Everyday he'll have his phone in one hand pressed near his ear, preparing what he'd say. But at the end of each day, he wouldn't go through with it. He'll locked himself up inside the quarters of a small room and cursed audibly, frustated.

Because at the end of every day, he'll see her.

She'd always act cheerful around him, like there's nothing wrong at all. Her expression would be a mixture of bliss and light-heartedness. Her posture energetic, like she could run all day without even feeling tired once.

They'd talk about each other's day on the dinner table, discussing the most random things just to let time pass. For a moment, he'd forget about all the things he's done to her and her father. That he really was just a freeloader than a teenager capable of taking care of himself.

Ran was the last straw that made the idea of staying as Conan so desirable. If he was still Shinichi, he would never let himself be this close to her. Sitting on her lap, letting her freely touch him anywhere, holding his hand wherever they go, and even bathing together (the last part is not supposed to be a good thing but he's a seventeen year old man so deal with it).

Whether he denied it or not, this incident made them closer, both literally and figuratively. He got to see more sides he was limited to as Shinichi, even though they've practically been together more than half of their lives. He got to see things he never would have seen, understand stuff about her he would have never been able to, and fell even deeper in love, if that was even possible at his state.

More than that, Ran even told him things that Kudo Shinichi will never have access to, but Edogawa Conan can easily cross. Particularly, her feelings for him. Honestly, it caught him off guard. He was confident—no he wasn't—that Ran liked him, or was at least interested, but he never would have guessed she feels this much—almost as much as he feels for her.

Just like always, she'd become a huge point for thinking that living as Edogawa Conan wasn't so bad.

But, she was also the one reason Kudo Shinichi can't die.

As they tuck themselves to bed, there will be nights he'll check on her, needing to calm the unsettling feelings in the pit of his stomach. Luckily, when she's not asleep, she'd leave her door ajar, large enough to do what he came for.

There, his eyes would widen at the image of his childhood best friend, sitting at the edge of the bed, gazing at the only source of light inside the dimly lit room, the moon. Her side profile was the only part he could make out of, but it doesn't take a genius to know that the liquid gathered around her usual cheery eyes were tears. The upward curve of her lips during dinner was now turned upside down, quivering ever so slightly.

He always wanted to look away, knowing it was his fault she was like that. He knew that Ran misses him, but just doesn't show to them or anyone else. She's strong that way. Selflessly getting herself hurt without ever bothering someone else, what a very 'Ran' thing to do.

The longer he stared at her lonely figure, he realized more and more things. Edogawa Conan didn't—and could never— have everything that Kudo Shinichi had. As a seven year old, Ran was only an older sister figure—who he have a crush on—, but as the teenage detective, she was his childhood friend and the only girl he'd ever consider to be with.

As Conan, he can comfort her and be there for her, making her happy temporarily. As Conan, he can use physical contact as means of communication, without worrying about her noticing how bad he has it towards her. As Conan, he didn't have to hide anything from her, showing her just how much she meant and just how much he was willing to give. But, as Conan, nothing he can and would do will ever be enough.

Because Conan wasn't, isn't, and will never be Shinichi.

It was funny, that Edogawa Conan almost has it all, except the one thing that mattered the most.

Having enough of seeing her so miserable, he'd enter the room in a quiet fashion, that her mind that was so far away wouldn't notice him creeping up behind her.

To catch her attention, he would encircle his small arms around her nape, fingers interlocking in her neck, tiptoing slightly, smelling the sweet shampoo she put that night and let her flinch at his touch.

After recognition, she would wipe her tears away, setting a perfect facade she always have when conversing with others. Most nights, he'd let her, understanding the feeling of not wanting others to see your own weakness and vulnerability. But Ran wasn't him, so she didn't have to put on some silly mask to cover her true feelings because he'll accept them, no matter what.

"Conan-kun?"

Her voice were low and hoarse from not being used for the last few minutes. She tried to turn around but his grip around tightens, not so much so he wouldn't hurt her, but enough to for her to stay still.

"I'm sorry."

That was all he could say. All he could offer right now. It wasn't something that would make her feel better, but it was a start.

She would chuckle lightly, but the sadness still lingers.

"What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong, Conan-kun. Nothing wrong at all."

The way she spoke to him was gentle and coaxing, like he was the one being comforted. But instead of being consoled, he felt worse. Because he did do something wrong. Something so wrong that it may never be forgiven.

Lying to her about the organization, living at the same house as her and her father, deceiving her everytime she gets closer to the truth, and many more mistakes were done, that not even an infinite amount of apologies can fix it.

But that was love, wasn't it? Wanting that person to live, whether you can be a part of it or not.

Unable to stop himself, he went from the crook of her neck going north, and planted his lips on the crown of her head. He felt her froze at his uncharacteristic action but instead of backing out, he continued on.

"I'm sure that Shinichi-niichan will be back soon. So please," From his childlike grim voice, he dropped his voice as low as he could manage, just to utter his last words, closest to his real voice. The one she wanted—needed—to hear. "Wait for him."

'Let me replace him for a while.'

He wanted to add but went against it. Ran was already so caring and kind towards Conan—a complete stranger—, anything more would be asking for too much.

Her breath hitched, his words leaving her in a mess. He let her organized her own thoughts first, not wanting to cause her trouble when his purpose was to cajole her.

Seconds passed and he found her soft hand holding his intertwined fingers, still coiled around her. She sighed and leaned on him, but not so much so he can still support his own weight.

Even without seeing her completely, he managed to catch a glimpse of a small smile, gracing her beautiful face.

"I know he will, Conan-kun. So I'll wait, no matter how long it takes."

Everyone knew him as Edogawa Conan. Even he treats himself more as the bespectacled genius little boy than the famed highschool detective. But for Mouri Ran, his childhood friend, and always for her, he was, is, and always will be Kudo Shinichi.

[mordoriscalling]

The Colour-Magic Theory (1/?)

Intro

Here comes part 1 of me playing with magic and giving myself Geraskier feels. Hope you enjoy! (Also, no beta, pls have mercy.)

***

From a look, a song and unwanted friendship, new lives are born. The stack of firewood is swallowed up by flames the moment Geralt casts Igni.

“Oh, I love that trick,” Jaskier says and puts his hands close to the fire, warming them after his fingers got stiff from playing the lute in the chill of the autumn evening. “Why don’t you use it every time, I wonder?” the bard asks, observing his companion sitting across the bonfire. “It’s so much easier.”

The witcher only grunts in reply, as is his way, and continues munching on a strip of beef jerky. Jaskier, however, isn’t deterred by the silence, and continues staring at Geralt expectantly. His questioning gaze is like a physical touch. It sends a tingling sensation down the witcher’s spine, the way it always does.

With a resigned sigh, Geralt answers, “I usually want to save my magic for when I really need it, but you were whining so much about the cold that I just wanted to shut you up quicker.”

Jaskier gasps and lays a hand on his breast, about to dramatically take offence, but doesn’t voice his hurt in the end. Something else intrigued him. “Save your magic?” he asks, “what do you mean?”

The witcher measures the bard with the blank “no more questions” look for long enough that any sane person would give up. Jaskier isn’t exactly sane, in Geralt’s (and some others’) opinion, and stares at the witcher right back, unmoved. When it comes to stubbornness, their relation is a diamond cut diamond type of situation.

Finally, Geralt gives in, huffing in irritation. “Magic always has a price. When you take power from Chaos, you have to give something back. The give and take tends to affect your physiological well-being, especially when the stakes are high.”

“So...” Jaskier begins, confused about his understanding of the matter, “casting signs weakens you and that’s why you don’t use magic often?”

“No,” the witcher answers, confusing his companion even further, “My extra mutations... they must’ve changed it. Using magic doesn’t have any effect on my body at all.”

“Fascinating,” Jaskier replies, then immediately gets up to rummage through his travel pack. He comes back to sit across Geralt with a notebook and a pencil in his hand. “What is the price you pay, then?” he asks the witcher and starts writing something in the notebook without waiting for a reply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, “I haven’t told anyone about this.” The bard’s head snaps up and he stares at Geralt in shock. Then, understanding dawns on his face. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “Alright.” The next moment, the page is torn out of the notebook. It lands in the bonfire and turns into ash. Geralt stares into the flames silently while Jaskier waits for him to speak up.

“My powers deplete themselves,” the witcher says, “It takes time for the magic to return.”

“Peculiar,” the bard remarks, “And a pretty shitty deal, too. I’d rather have it affect my physiology than have to wait after every silly spell.”

Geralt shakes his head. “There’s something else. It’s... hard to explain. In a way, I can negotiate with Chaos. Make my magic not exhaust itself as quickly as it should. It’s useful when I’m in a fight.” His mouth sets into a grim line. “I still haven’t figured out the price I pay for that, though.”

Jaskier smiles a wry little smile, not commenting for once, and Geralt lets himself look at the bard, who meets his eye squarely. The bright gold connects with the cornflower blue and time stands still. Just between the two of them, the colour of the bard’s irises is suddenly so vibrant that it alerts Geralt’s witcher instincts. Jaskier tends to have that effect on him. The bard is always full of energy  – all flutter and movement, brightness and sounds – and it’s too much not to be suspicious. Too much for Geralt’s heightened senses as well; Jaskier’s constant chatter almost gives him a headache every day. His singing is even more bothersome, considering that Geralt’s medallion reacts to it.

“Maybe the price is putting up with you,” the witcher jokes, deadpan. “You!” Jaskier cries, directing an accusing pointing finger at Geralt, “You bastard! I’m a delight and a gift to this world!”

Geralt huffs out a laugh but does nothing to deny it. Jaskier may be annoying and strange but he’s a blessing all the same. Since he joined Geralt two years ago, he’s been working relentlessly on improving Geralt’s image and changing the public perception of all witchers. The bard wants him reborn as a hero, which is a fool’s errand, but he’s grateful for it anyway. The thank-you gets stuck in Geralt’s throat whenever he wants to say it, even though he’s already less spat at in villages. Thankfully, Jaskier seems to understand. Many things pass between them with little words.

Later, when they lay down to sleep, Jaskier’s quiet question reaches the witcher’s ears.  

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Hmm.”

*

The bard walks a few steps ahead of Geralt, who follows him on his horse’s back. Jaskier is composing. He’s always in front of Roach when he’s preoccupied with the creative process. The song about the healing of the Striga that he’s working on is in the middle stages – the first version of lyrics is ready but every single line needs perfecting. This is exactly what Jaskier is doing now: trying out the sound of every word and looking for ones that fit the melody better.

The bard is so engrossed with the task that he doesn’t notice the obvious – how the nature around him moves to get closer to his voice. Geralt’s keen eyes notice the way each straw of grass and every leaf lean in, just a touch, to “listen”. The air has gone completely still and the meadow is eerily silent; even Roach seems to be holding her breath. Geralt’s medallion vibrates.

The witcher decides that this moment is as good as any to confront the issue.

“You’re not human.” Jaskier freezes in his tracks, his body going rigid with tension. The acidic stench of fear fills the air and Geralt shifts in the saddle, disturbed by the smell for the first time in decades. “I am not,” Jaskier replies, his back to the witcher. “Do you want to tell me?” Geralt prompts, his voice gentle like it almost never is.   The bard turns to face him, face pale and hands trembling. “You really don’t know what I am?” “You should be the one to say it,” the witcher answers softly. Jaskier releases a shaky breath and nods. Stepping off the path, he walks into the tall grasses and strums his lute. When he opens his mouth, he sings in a language which the witcher has never heard in his long life. The tongue consists mostly of croons, trills, whistles and swishing sounds, and it’s enchanting even to Geralt’s ears. The air becomes thick with power immediately. It’s not Chaos, however. It’s a whole different type of magic.

The fae are creatures of nature – they are born from its energy. Guarding its Order and sustaining its sacred rhythms is their ancient task that they’ve always been fulfilling, hidden away in their own dimension of the world. They belong to the magic of nature and they don’t move out of it. Usually.

Jaskier didn’t belong anywhere, not until recently. His rhythm has always been too fast. He flutters from place to place, both quickly bored and immensely fascinated with everything and anything. The skies have always drawn him in the most – he still dreams of being a bird and flying anywhere he wants. In the end, Jaskier’s Queen found his temperament unbearable enough that she didn’t clip his wings any longer and allowed him to mingle with mortals.

Jaskier’s done his fair share of that, along with quite some mischief, but his life of adventure truly began only when he saw the brooding loner in Posada. The man’s restrained disposition and the guarded gold of his eyes were arresting, intriguing. Jaskier instantly wanted to know what secrets the witcher held. A few years later, he’s sure he won’t ever grow tired of uncovering them – every little bit of information, of understanding Geralt better, sends a thrill of rightness and belonging through his being.

Freeing his magic puts him at ease, lets him truly breathe. And so, the bard carries on singing, not afraid anymore. He smiles, radiating happiness. His glamour has dropped a bit and his sharp fangs are showing but the witcher only smiles back with the tiny upturn of his lips. Jaskier laughs in between the lines because from this moment on, he’s well and truly safe.

When the song ends, the meadow is completely silent for a moment, then the buzz of insects picks up anew and the gentle gust of wind returns.

“You’ve said enough,” Geralt remarks, and that’s all he has to say on the matter.

After that, the bard opens up to his companion even more, if that’s even possible. Geralt has a suspicion that Jaskier’s chatter was to serve as a distraction from his magic. Now that it’s out in the open, Jaskier’s silences, previously almost non-existent, has got longer. The bard doesn’t shy away from using his power around the witcher, too, and uses it in various ways to make their lives easier. He enchants a client into compliance when they don’t want to give Geralt the promised pay, or asks plants and animals to tell them where the nearest shelter is. When Geralt has a restless night, Jaskier’s humming puts him to sleep. The witcher’s medallion always vibrates then but Geralt isn’t alarmed by it any longer. It’s become a welcome thrum.

Their dynamic changes but they don’t look for any ways to describe it; they simply live the new way and enjoy it. The lazy, warm afternoons are the most pleasant, when Geralt stretches out in a shade of some tree and dozes off to the sounds of Jaskier's lute. Other times Geralt uses Aard to toss some object and Jaskier tries to catch it, laughing, his giggles lovelier than the tinkle of silver bells. Chaos and Order swirl around them, the sky is blue and the sun shines bright on the lush green grass. It could mean nothing or it could mean the world but what matters is that they both find peace. This is why Geralt doesn’t call Jaskier his friend – the word doesn’t fit.

Then Cintra happens and they part ways for three whole years.

TBC

Part 2

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “An Enchanted Gift” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Anathema gives Aziraphale and Crowley a special gift - a homemade bottle of a holiday drink with some very peculiar side effects. (2299 words)

Notes: Written for the wonderful @theantichristmaszine  :) Warning for sexual content.

Read on AO3.

Crowley’s flat is positively a picture, fit for printing on a Christmas card.

Fire roaring on the hearth.

Garland and tinsel draped over anything that doesn’t move.

Fairy lights brightening the dark corners, wound around the rubber tree and the Chinese Evergreen, weeding through the leaves of the dieffenbachia.

A host of red velvet, gold taffeta, and white satin ribbon hanging from the ceiling till no white marble can be seen.

And at the center of it all, a tree - an honest-to-Satan floor-to-ceiling pine that Crowley had tromped into the forest and tore out of the ground himself with his own two hands. An ax would have been simpler. Heck, he could have snapped the thing back to his flat, trimmed and mounted, ready for decorating. But his method seemed so much more festive considering he’d been bellowing holiday carols the entire time.

He let angel take the lead decorating. Aziraphale had a merry time covering the thing in frosted globes, glass candy canes (since the real ones didn’t last long enough to hang), gingerbread men (only slightly nibbled), reindeer, clove oranges, crocheted white-lace snowflakes, and other ornaments of the like, purchased from artisans all around London.  

Crowley had gone so far as to include a manger scene for the benefit of his angel-in-residence. However, instead of hanging the Archangel Gabriel using the provided hook, he hung him over the birthplace of the Lord by a noose. Aziraphale giggled when he saw it but recommended fixing it - to ward off bad karma or something along those lines. Not wanting to sully his spirits listening to a lecture about tempting fate (which is all Crowley does), Crowley remedied it.

He replaced Gabriel with a vintage Troll doll key chain Pepper accidentally forgot at Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“There! Top notch replacement, if I do say so meself! Looks just like ‘im!” Crowley declared, gesturing to the absurd trinket with its vibrant purple hair.

“And which part, might I ask, looks just like him?” Aziraphale had asked.

“The head! It’s huge!”

Demons aren’t much for celebrating. But this year, with everything Crowley had to be grateful for, he honestly couldn’t help himself. At its root, Christmas is about love.

Family.

Birth.

A chance to shed the skin of past sins and start anew.

This year, Crowley couldn’t see letting Christmas pass unacknowledged.

“You know, I may not be a connoisseur of holiday shindigs,” Crowley says, leaning back on the floor and gazing up at the spectacle that is their cheerfully burdened tree, “but I would say tonight has come pretty close to perfect. Wouldn’t you?” He rolls onto his hip, beaming at Aziraphale seated not too far from him, a loopy grin nudging his mouth up at the corners.

“Indeed.” Aziraphale lifts his bottle of Burgundy, prepared to propose a toast. It comes up off the floor far too quickly, an indicator the thing has been drained dry.

“Looks like we finished that one.” Crowley looks left and right in search of another, but doesn’t see one. “Augh! Don’t tell me we went through them all! I’m sure I had another three at least!”

“Don’t fret, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “I may have just the thing.” He crawls over to the tree on hands and knees and rummages underneath. A second later he crawls back out, accompanied by a rustic-looking green glass bottle and a triumphant little, ‘A-ha!’ “This comes courtesy of dear, sweet Anathema.” He presents the bottle to his demon for approval. “She said she made it with love.”

“Really?” Crowley snorts while Aziraphale uncorks the bottle. “And what ingredient is that then? Wolfsbane? Mandrake root?”

“Honey, I think.” Aziraphale gives the mouth of the bottle a sniff. “Maybe blackberries?”

“The important question is - is it alcohol?”

Aziraphale brings the bottle to his lips and knocks back a gulp, coughing at the finish. “That it is.”

“Give it here then. I’d like to partake of some love, too.” Crowley indulges, tilting his head back and taking a huge swig. He smacks his tongue, then licks his lips, shivering when a wave of heat enters his bloodstream and works its way down his spine. “Wow. That’s tasty.”

“Isn’t it? If being a witch doesn’t work out for her, she should definitely take up a career distilling.”

“Love, you say?” Crowley peers into the bottle, pondering the ingredients as the drink settles onto his taste buds. “Do you think that’s something she orders by the pound, or gathers under the full moon?”

“To be honest, I have no idea---oof!” Aziraphale sways, planting a hand flat on the floor and locking his elbow to keep from toppling over.

“You alright, angel?” Crowley snickers. “Having a bit of trouble holding your drink?” His forehead wrinkles with concern when Aziraphale doesn’t recover right away. “That’s not normally like you---”

Crowley’s teasing cuts off when Aziraphale’s mouth crashes into his - hot, demanding, tasting of mulling spices, apples, sour plum, and brandy. It takes Crowley a moment to realize Aziraphale is kissing him.

Then another for him to start kissing back.

This isn’t just any kiss. It’s the kiss he’s been longing for. The kiss he’d feel on his lips every time Aziraphale looked his way and smiled. It’s the kiss he thought about the century he slept. And even though there have been many kisses between them, Crowley ranks this as the first.

Because it’s the kiss of dreams.

Aziraphale inhales sharply and backs away. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, my dear! I don’t know what came over me!”

Crowley looks him over curiously, waiting for an explanation, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to have one. Aziraphale loves kissing, but he doesn’t go about it this way - doesn’t rush in, doesn’t take what he hasn’t asked for. “Turn about’s fair play, I’d wager.”

“What do you …?”

Without another word, Crowley sneaks a hand behind Aziraphale’s head and kisses him back.

Another kiss follows. Then another. With each one, the room becomes inhospitable - too warm, too stuffy, too difficult to stay in wearing all their blasted clothes! Aziraphale tries to relieve the pressure at his neck, but he can’t seem to manage his buttons, so Crowley helps him undo those. Likewise Crowley’s zipper becomes uncooperative, so Aziraphale tasks himself with unzipping it. Article by article they tear through until the two become too frustrated to care about the inevitable paperwork and snap off the rest.

Crowley kneels behind his angel, completely naked, kissing every spot he can get his lips on. And God, how it tingles! No. How it burns - each touch of his lips to Aziraphale’s flesh sending surges of razor sharp and magma hot straight from Crowley’s mouth to his groin.

And he wants more.

He wants it everywhere.

He wants it scalding his throat, searing his lungs, consuming him from the inside out. Let it dissolve him into ashes that blow away on the wind, let him die in an orgasm of violence and fire and angelic light.

As long as it comes with Aziraphale.

What a way to go.

“I have to have you, angel,” he moans. “Now. Right now.”

“Are you … are you sure? We’ve always said that we wouldn’t allow alcohol to make us amorous.”

“I don’t feel drunk. Do you?”

Aziraphale focuses inward, taking stock of his corporation. “No,” he says, surprised considering the bottles of wine they’d polished off before they started in on Anathema’s gift. “I don’t. Not at all.” Aziraphale locates an empty bottle and concentrates, tries to push the alcohol of the night from his system, but nothing appears. Not a single drop. “Far from it, it would seem.”

“That’s right. We’re not drunk. We’re completely in our right minds.”

“I wouldn’t say …”

“I want this, angel!” Crowley pleads with a sense of urgency. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. More than ever,” Aziraphale admits.

“What do you want me to do?” Crowley whispers, voice husky with a lust he has inspired in others but has never once felt himself. “Tell me.”

“Make love to me?”

“How?”

Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder, grinning at his demon chomping at the bit. “You seem to be in the perfect position. I suggest you start there.”

Aziraphale expects Crowley to mock his snark, but he doesn’t, diving immediately back into the task of kissing across Aziraphale’s shoulders, lingering over the joint where his wings would connect if he let them out. Crowley swirls over it with his tongue, painting overlapping circles, and Aziraphale sees stars. They’ve made love in this position before, and Crowley has kissed every inch of his back, but he’s never spent so much time on this particular area.

The decadence of this sensation should be criminal.

Aziraphale feels Crowley’s hands on his body everywhere at once - massaging his muscles, fondling his cock, scissoring him open. Could Crowley be using magic to pleasure him? That’s not something they’ve ever done before due to the implications of Hell finding out. But seeing as Hell is no longer a concern, that puts every card at their disposal.

And thank God because this they need to do again!

“Aziraphale,” Crowley utters as he enters him, his angel’s name like sugar in his bitter mouth, and fuck!

There it is.

When he enters him completely.

The fire.

Inside his angel.

And Crowley has become its fuel.

“Oh, Crowley …” Aziraphale shifts his weight onto his palms and leans forward, raising his rear in the air. “Oh, yes. Just like that, my dear …”

“Like this, angel?” Crowley pulls back, then thrusts hard - harder than he would normally, sending Aziraphale swiftly to the verge. With Aziraphale’s grunts of ecstasy mirroring the rhythm of Crowley’s hips, Crowley knows that regardless of anything, this he cannot stop.

It would be unforgivable.

“Yes!” Aziraphale whimpers, bracing against the marble floor with knuckles white. “Yes! Crowley, yes!”

“Yes …” Crowley echoes beneath his breath, a lightness settling inside his mind, siphoning his ability to think. He’s done too much thinking already. Now is not the time for thinking. Now is the time for serving. The time for feeling. And what he feels is soft beneath his hands, tight around his cock, a quest for satisfaction, for completion, wrapped in a braided rope of love, love, and more love. So much love it fills his flat from corner to ceiling, leaves its mark on the walls and on the doors.

And on the marble beneath them when Aziraphale, spiraling out of control, comes unannounced on Crowley’s living room floor.

“Oh,” he squeaks with embarrassment though he knows Crowley would say he shouldn’t be. “I apologize, my love, but I seem to have sullied your floor.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Crowley says, snapping his fingers and cleaning the mess as he shudders through his own orgasm, which had snuck up inside him and granted him release less like an accomplishment and more like a reward for what he had done for his angel.

“Well,” Aziraphale manages even though he’s breathless, which isn’t a bother for him. “That was … interesting.”

“Just interesting?”

Aziraphale blushes. “More than interesting. But I would hate to think that was all because of the drink.”

“I wouldn’t say it was. I think the brew just sort of lowered out inhibitions. Enhanced the experience.”

“Do you think that was meant to happen? I find it difficult to believe that Anathema of all people gave us some sort of love potion as a Christmas present.”

“Not sure. Could be a side-effect of being witch made. Probably affects us more because we’re occult.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue Crowley’s word usage. “Or … what if it’s something worse?”

“Worse?” Crowley arches an eyebrow. “What worse?”

“What if it did what it was meant to, but it was supposed to be a present for her young gentleman?”

“Ugh! Aziraphale! Don’t!” Crowley groans, wrapping his arms around his angel and holding him tight. “You’re going to put me off!”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale chuckles, hugging Crowley’s arms about his waist. Locked in the cozy cocoon of Crowley’s embrace, a thought pricks Aziraphale’s brain.

There is a secret third possibility.

A week or two ago, Aziraphale went to Tracy Shadwell’s place for tea and rum cake. While he was there, he’d confided in both Tracy and Anathema that as much as he loved his sex life with his husband, physical intimacy had become somewhat of a chore. Not because he didn’t love it, which he did, but because Crowley seemed stuck on every love making session between them being more romantic than the last. First came the champagne, then the candlelight (so much candlelight …), massages with complicated names, and, as of late, dramatic musical choices. It’s nice, the care Crowley puts into being his lover, but it also puts a tremendous amount of pressure on Aziraphale to keep up appearances.

Makes the whole ordeal feel like a performance.

Some nights, by the time they get to the good stuff, Aziraphale is ready to hit the hay. Seeing as he despises sleep, that’s awfully telling.

Aziraphale has come to the conclusion that, often times, he’s just … how did the youths say it … down to fuck.

So this drink may have done exactly what it was meant to, and he and Crowley may have rightfully been its intended targets.

But Aziraphale isn’t about to tell Crowley that.

“What should we do now? Should we lock it away or …?”

“Seems to me there’s only one thing we can do …” Crowley looks the bottle over, gauging the level of the liquid still inside. He grins, the firelight flickering in his eyes, making him look more wicked than Aziraphale has seen him in decades.

And he takes a hefty swallow.

[haikyuulovercompany]

Can I request an angsty Daichi imagine where the reader and him are exes and they’ve been on and off for a long time? Then the reader feels kind of jealous and upset when she sees Daichi with a new girl and when they get back together, s/o is really emo and asks him something like “do really want me? do you even love me? Why do we keep doing this?”. A nice happy ending pls.

Okay, I really tried to include everything, and I hope you like it! It’s nice to write for Daichi. He’s very warm and it’s easy to put him in different situations (: I don’t know how angsty this was, but i hope it is enough?? Thanks for the request!! -Admin Bunny.

----- Giving a relationship a second chance wasn’t easy. One could think it would be easy to fall into routine since both parts already knew each other, and if two people decided to try again, it meant the feelings were too strong to let go. There was a side some people didn’t think when adventuring once again with the same person: there was history.

After spending almost, a whole year apart, meeting again with Daichi and watching the love between them bloom again, ______ thought they would finally get the proper chance they deserved. She hadn’t foreseen the downside of it, but she quickly discovered it.

You don’t break up your relationship because of nothing. They had fallen out of love, or so they had thought. In that moment, the decision had hurt but it had made sense. They loved each other but it simply wasn’t the same after three years.

Getting over Daichi had proven to be the hardest part, especially because she hadn’t been able to truly get over him. After three months, ______ thought she was doing better. She missed Daichi only in certain situations that inevitably reminded her of him, and even then, it was nothing but nostalgia. It wasn’t the same pain she went through the first weeks. It was like that until Sugawara had uploaded a story to his social media, and ______ had saw Daichi hugging a new girl. In a frenzy, she had gone through his socials and quickly found said girl. It was quick to verify they were romantically involved. She shared much more of her life than him on her socials. It had been like getting her heart broken twice. ______ fell into the toxic game of comparing herself to her. It was truly painfully to see him happy with someone else.

She didn’t know what had happened, but she knew it had been a brief relationship. As Daichi put it, he hadn’t been ready and he rushed with someone else, unnecessarily hurting the two of them. He had openly talked about it, and in the moment, it had calmed her heart. They were restarting things, and she had never been so unsure of herself. She wanted to make things right so badly, she was obsessing over anything threating their relationship.

It had gotten to a point where _____ kept checking the socials of the other girl. Daichi’s words revolved around her head constantly. Brief or not, Daichi had broken things up because he wasn’t ready, not because he didn’t like her. Digging into that type of train of thought was noxious. She should be enjoying being with him again, but the ghosts of the previous months haunted her daily. She was afraid he would fell out of love with her again, or maybe he wasn’t even that in love anymore. She was afraid she was sharing his heart with someone else, and this fear only increased when she found out Daichi still followed the other girl everywhere. Maybe he couldn’t let her go.

It didn’t help when two weeks later, Daichi was acting distant. He hadn’t been answering to her texts with the same consistency than always, and whenever she called him, he seemed to be in a hurry. Was he regretting being with her again? Weeks of stress and insecurity had accumulated, putting her under a pressure she had no idea how to get rid of. She had to admit to Daichi she had been lurking through his life, and the least thing she wanted was be the stereotypical crazy girlfriend who had tabs on him. She didn’t want to be that person.

One week went by. Daichi had promised to have dinner with her that night to compensate for how absent he had been. This didn’t help ______. He was aware of his behavior, and he was quick to notice upon his arrival there was something that wasn’t right with his girlfriend.

He hadn’t expected her to jump and scream, but the short kiss he had received raised an alarm in his head. He had tried to shrug it off. It had been just a kiss. However, as the minutes pass and ______ wouldn’t even meet his eyes and kept her distance. “Is everything okay?” he finally asked.

She raised her eyes to him and nodded before looking away, warming up dinner for the two of them. “Yup.”

“______,” Daichi called, walking up to her and turning down the fire of the stove, and dedicating her a worrying look. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, okay?” But her tone told otherwise.

Daichi grabbed her softly by the arms, putting enough strength to keep her in place. “Can you please just talk to me?”

“Do you really want me?” ______ asked abruptly with anguish all over her voice.

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

She broke loose from his hold, putting distance between them again. “I mean us. Me as a girlfriend. Do you really want this?”

“______, obviously I want you. Why are you asking this?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and what he wanted the most was to bring her into his arms, but it was plain obvious she was in a defensive state, and she wouldn’t let him. He waited for her to gather up herself and speak. “You dated someone else, and it wouldn’t be too crazy if you still want her. I know you still follow her everywhere, and I just wonder. I wonder all the time. You fell out of love with me once, you know,” she confessed, nibbling on her lower lip.

Daichi quickly knew what he had done wrong. He had assumed things would be as good as always. They couldn’t really start anew. They had to start from where they had left things. He had dismissed their past mistakes instead of resolving them. He didn’t need closure, but she clearly did need it. “We can agree that the both of us fell out love,” he started. “I needed to see a little bit what was out there, and in the end, there was nothing like you. That’s why seeing you again at that party was a relief. I had been considering on texting you. Check if just maybe you were missing me, too. It was funny because the more time it passed, instead of moving on I just wanted you more and more.”

“It was the same for me,” she admitted. His words were working on her. Her doubtful heart was peeking out of her chest at Daichi, yearning to hear more.

“We got blind and we needed to step out to see what we had. And I love what I have with you. I’m sure I could never find what I have with you with anyone else. There’s just one ______, and that’s who I want.” She looked at him, and he was already staring at her with tenderness. He smiled softly. “Come here.”

______ obeyed, and slowly made her way to him. He trapped her in his arms. “But what about her?”

“It’s over with her.”

“You said you left her because you weren’t ready. Not because you didn’t like it.”

He chuckled. “Because all I could think about was trying things with you again. Maybe if I had asked for a second chance, and you had rejected me, then I would have my answer and truly move on. You were always on my mind.”

“Really?”

“I swear on my life. But I need you to trust me in this. I’m looking for a promotion and there will be weeks where I will be very busy, but it doesn’t mean it has to do with you. Can you trust me?”

“I can.”

“Can I kiss you and then we can have dinner?” he asked, returning to a much lighter tone.

She smiled. “Yeah.” He leaned down and connected his lips with her, making sure to make the kiss last more than the regular peck. Goosebumps went down her neck at the feeling. It was the perfect way to seal her insecurities away. Daichi had never been a liar, and there hadn’t been a hint of deception. He wasn’t that type of guy. At the same time, she felt too naïve to believe Daichi was someone who would toy with others feelings. In that moment, the toxic thoughts torturing her through the week felt silly and without base. She had really let the worst of her took the wheel, and drove her to dark places. Thankfully, Daichi was like a beacon, guiding back to the shore—back to him. “We’ll make it work this time around, you’ll see,” he assured her before kissing her one more time. She felt a spark of happiness, and kissed him back with more enthusiasm.